


Être Majeur

by Yilena



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, Battle Royale - Freeform, Character Death, Established Relationship, F/M, Horror, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 19:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21258536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yilena/pseuds/Yilena
Summary: After being forced into a battle royale with her boyfriend, Marinette has to decide whether her love is more important than trying to win. Adrien's convinced that they can survive together, but she's not so sure. AU.





	Être Majeur

**Author's Note:**

> happy halloween, friends. this year i present to you something that's _not_ supernatural!! i know it's shocking since that's 90% of my stories by now. and for a change of pace, there won't be any smut in this one. it seemed too out of place, so i had to cut it out in the end. remember, halloween means this won't be a fluffy light-hearted story like the rest of mine!! don't read this if you're not okay with horror, it's not worth it.
> 
> **warnings** for: violence, murder, and character deaths.

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

“Stop,” Marinette said through her laughter, head against her shoulder as she squirmed. “You know I don't like that!”

“Sorry,” Adrien had replied, but he didn't sound apologetic in the slightest. Instead of stopping immediately, he pressed another kiss to her ear, amusement clear in his voice as he said, “I can't help it that you're so cute—”

Awkwardly, she turned so her back was against the cold window, lifting her feet up to push him away. “Get away from me.”

He didn't resist, dramatically falling over onto their friend, Ivan, as he proclaimed, “Oh, I'm being _abused_.”

While Adrien was taller—enough for her head to barely reach his shoulders—Ivan was wide, more muscle than Adrien was. It was a sight to see when Ivan wrapped his arm around Adrien, comforting him with a patronising pat to the top of his head.

“Thanks, dude,” Adrien said, pretending to sniff. “I'm glad you still love me.”

“This is a headlock,” Ivan answered.

Adrien batted his eyelashes. “Are you flirting with me?”

Marinette pushed her feet into him again, silently making a point.

“Fine, I'll stop swooning over Ivan,” he announced, sitting up properly, smoothing out his shirt before primly putting his hands onto his knees. “Any idea how much longer this'll take? My ass is numb.”

She laughed. “We've only just left.”

“It feels longer,” he shot back, haughtily raising his chin in the air. “You're just bitter because I've got the middle seat.”

“Adrien, that's the smallest seat,” she pointed out.

Ivan chimed in with, “She's right.”

“Maybe so,” he agreed. “But I'm equally loved by you both right now. I think I'm the winner here.”

There was silence in respond to that.

Adrien huffed and crossed his arms. “Rude.”

It was moments like that, where she was stuck in a car with Adrien and his friend, that she was reminded about how nice he was. While they'd only just started dating, Marinette had awkwardly been introduced to his friends ever since they'd started to know each other a few months ago, and she always appreciated how he never made her feel left out.

If he and a friend had an inside joke, he did try to explain them to her. He was always including her in conversations, made sure that his friends got the same treatment, so no one was standing there twiddling their thumbs, too shy to interject.

Adrien was good with people.

Marinette wasn't so much, and it turned out, neither was Ivan.

But they got along well. Marinette thought that out of all Adrien's friends she'd met at college, Ivan was the best one. It helped that she shared one class with him, too.

There was a particularly bad bump in the road that had her clutching her stomach.

“You okay?” Adrien questioned, reaching out and gently putting a hand on her shoulder.

“I—yeah,” she stuttered, a bit embarrassed. “I'm fine, I think.”

“I've got some water from earlier,” Ivan spoke up. Without waiting for a response, he fumbled for his backpack by his feet, bringing out a half-filled bottle, offering it up without any hint of hesitation.

Marinette was touched by that. “Thank you.”

The trip was one that had been planned for months—had been planned for them, by the teachers and their guardians—but it was, unfortunately, on the weekend instead of during the week. It made sense that they wouldn't be allowed to skip classes for a day while everyone else had to work, but the fact that she'd stayed up late the previous night to work on a project wasn't her smartest move.

At one point, Marinette tried to rest her head against the window to sleep, but she was woke up form the discomfort within minutes. Plus, there was the quiet chatter from Adrien and Ivan, along with the radio from the driver.

They knew that a teacher wouldn't be the one taking them—not when it wasn't really related to the college in the first place—but it was still a surprise when they'd been greeted by a hulking figure of a man in the early hours of the morning.

“I'm so tired,” she moaned.

Adrien didn't sound sympathetic at all. “That's because you're an idiot.”

“An idiot who's going to get an A,” she replied. “Unlike, Mister-Always-Does-It-Last-Minute.”

“Not a very good name,” Ivan commented.

“You're not very good,” she muttered.

“Shall I call you premature, then?” Adrien quipped.

She hit his arm lightly.

He laughed, loud and open. “That's abuse, you know!”

“You going to go crying to your daddy?” she asked.

Adrien sniffed. “I might.”

“It's raining, you'll get wet,” Marinette said, gesturing towards the window. “You'll look like a drowned cat in the cemetery.”

“The rain will hide my tears,” he replied, pretending to wipe one away. “I'll just look like one of those gothic teens.”

Ivan's voice wobbled with laughter as he repeated, “Gothic teens?”

“My people,” Adrien confirmed with a serious nod of his head.

“The tragic backstory fits,” Marinette agreed. “You might even be elected as their leader because of it.”

Adrien's smile showed his white teeth. “I'll work my way up to a cult.”

“Stay humble,” Ivan advised. “It's your best quality.”

“I'm a sad little orphan, let me imagine having the world at my feet,” Adrien said, dramatically leaning back against the chair and crossing his arms. “You're killing my dreams here, you two.”

“We're cheering you on,” Marinette replied. “But only, like, realistically.”

Ivan added on, “You might want to focus on your classes first.”

“Yeah—”

It was then that the driver, the man that had barely spoken the whole ride, spoke up to ask, “Can you guys shut up for a while? Please?”

Marinette's cheeks felt hot. “Sorry.”

The scenery wasn't very interesting.

That morning, her foster mother had woken her up with the reminder that she wasn't allowed to skip the meeting.

It seemed a bit pointless.

Three orphans sitting in a car together sounded like a start of a terrible joke, but that was the situation that they were in. It was the reason behind Adrien and Ivan's friendship—as they'd been in the same family for a while when they were younger, only to be reconnected in college—but Marinette hadn't had a clue that Adrien was in a similar situation to her.

It was fresher for her than it was for them, but not by much.

Adrien offered his shoulder for her to sleep on.

She whispered back that his bones were too uncomfortable.

The ride felt longer than it should've. Marinette really did rest her head on his shoulder, but only to blankly stare out of the window, barely paying attention to what was happening. The driver had turned up the radio since they'd stopped talking, but she could still him tapping his fingers against the wheel, the beat not matching up to the song.

It irritated her.

“Think they'll even give us good advice?” she muttered.

“Why, of course,” Adrien replied, utterly fake. “They're going to tell me that I can do anything—but maybe start with fast-food since I'm unloved and alone.”

She snorted. “I don't think they'll say that.”

“I'll get singing lessons,” he decided. “Then, they'll cast me as a star in a show. For authenticity points, yeah?”

“...That's not a thing,” Ivan quietly pointed out.

“That's because I haven't auditioned yet,” Adrien replied, fiddling with the water bottle. “Just you wait.”

Ivan had to say, “You really can't sing.”

She pressed her face into Adrien's shoulder to muffle her laughter.

In return, the driver turned the music up louder.

It was a clear sign for them to be quiet.

And as the music started to fade into something less exciting—less bass, less pounding music that was filled with belted lyrics—Marinette started to doze off. Adrien shuffled and moved his arm to wrap it around her, bringing her closer, and it was one of the only times they'd been so close.

There was only so much they could do at college.

“Thanks,” she murmured, adjusting her position to get more comfortable.

There was no reply, but he didn't have to say anything.

She was warm, cosy, and felt content with Adrien holding her close.

She really did fall asleep.

But when she woke up, it was abrupt. Marinette jolted in shock from the noises around her—screaming, the sound of footsteps pounding around them—and she jerked back, hitting her hands against the cold floor in the process.

_Floor_?

There wasn't any light.

Marinette blinked rapidly, trying to get rid of the sleepy haze from her mind, but her body felt sluggish, not quite responding properly—

Amongst the loud talking, she was able to make out a loud call of, “Marinette?”

It wasn't close to her.

“A-Adrien?” Marinette answered back, clearing her throat. “Adrien, is that you?”

“Yes!” he responded. “Are you—stay still, okay? But keep talking!”

As she looked around, there wasn't any sign of light. The conversations around her were rapid, snippets able to be made out, but there seemed to be so many people in the space, all bunched together and shoved into the darkness.

“I'm here!” she said. “I'm just—let me get up first.”

She slowly got up to her feet, putting her hand down on the floor to try and stay steady, and when they stood up, she ended up bumping into someone behind her.

“I'm sorry,” she croaked. “I didn't—”

“I-it's fine,” was the reply she got. It was quiet, feminine, and filled with tears. “Do you—do you know where we are? Please?”

Her heart was beating quickly. “...I don't.”

The sob that came from the other girl made her throat feel tight.

There wasn't something quite right with her body, still. Marinette's head felt odd, and moving it too quickly made her feel dizzy.

It was cold.

But she'd—she'd been in the car, hadn't she? With a call of Adrien's name, trying to guide him over to her, she could hear others complaining about people bumping into them, the sound of crying, and what seemed to be pounding—had someone found the door?

There had to be a door for them to get inside, right?

But it—

It was supposed to be a meeting about her future, to try and be a functioning adult that, technically, had no parents.

“Marinette?”

He was closer.

“I'm here!” Marinette exclaimed. “You're close, I swear—”

And when she felt a hand touching her, she didn't react with relief immediately, not until it was accompanied by his voice. Adrien pulled her into a tight hug, tucking her head into his chest, and she responded in kind, squeezing her eyes shut as she embraced him right back.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“I... I think so,” he quietly replied. “I—I couldn't find you, Marinette. I was so fucking worried.”

There was a lump in her throat. “Where's Ivan?”

“I don't know,” he admitted. “He—I haven't heard him respond to his name.”

Panic was welling up in her.

To get a sense of stability, to really understand what was going on, Marinette reached up until she was able to feel his face; the feel of his hair, and his breath against her skin as she tried to imagine what he looked like at that moment.

What she was understanding from everyone's conversations was that no one knew what was going on.

And, slowly, more people were calling out other names; ones she didn't recognise, voices that she'd never heard in her life before. Some were frantic, others were sobbing, while a rare few were trying to remain calm, telling them to look for a switch for the lights, or anything covering the windows.

Hands falling down to his arms, she tightened her grip on his clothing.

“Don't,” Marinette started, voice cracking.“Don't leave me, okay?”

“I'm not going anywhere,” he whispered back, voice shaking ever-so-slightly. “I'm right here, okay?”

There was shouting, yelling—a guy was telling another to fuck off, to let him continue to bang on what he assumed to be the door.

“You're scaring everyone!” another exclaimed.

Marinette almost laughed at that.

“Me?” was the response. “You're—we're trapped in the fucking dark, dude. Don't you think that's suspicious?”

“That doesn't mean you shouldn't use your brain, Nino!” the other replied, sounding exasperated. “Just—can you calm down, please? I know it's not right, but I really don't want you to get hurt.”

“Fine,” the first, Nino, said. “_Fine_.”

The voices hadn't sounded too young, not like they were children, and not too old.

“Do you think they know each other?” Marinette asked quietly.

Adrien didn't let go of her. “Maybe.”

The sobbing in the room hadn't stopped, but the banging had. Some were still trying to find some sort of cover for the windows, but no one had found anything that seemed remotely similar.

Marinette's knees were starting to feel weak.

It wasn't—none of it was making _sense_.

She wasn't a light sleeper.

But for her to wake up in a foreign room with countless others, with them all confused and lost on how they'd gotten there in the first place, meant that they'd all experienced something similar, didn't it?

She wetted her lips. “What do you remember?”

“I don't—” Adrien cut himself off to breathe out audibly. “I don't really know? I just—fell asleep, I think. Then, I woke up here with all the shouting.”

It sounded insane to her, but she answered, “I think we were drugged.”

The sluggishness of her body would back that theory up, too.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But I... I don't know why they'd do that.”

Her eyes were starting to itch. “We never—the driver didn't show us any identification.”

“Marinette,” he started, hushed. “Why would he?”

“Why _wouldn't_ he?” she shot back. “This—this could only be because of him!”

“That doesn't mean—”

“That we were kidnapped?” Marinette retorted, voice growing louder and bordering on hysterical. She took a step back, still grasping onto his arm, not wanting to be completely apart from him. “Don't you fucking say that I'm being crazy—”

His hands gripped her shoulders. “I'm not,” he whispered, earnest. “I'm not, I swear. I just... I don't want to acknowledge it yet, okay?”

“Okay,” she echoed, hollow.

Her heart was still beating fast.

It was surreal.

The most exciting thing that had happened to her that year was that Adrien had returned her affections; from each of them sneaking glances at each other in classes, to the shared smiles, and then him gently touching her hand when they'd shared a desk one time.

She'd thought the first time they'd be in the dark together would be more romantic.

She tried to take in a deep breath, to try and calm down and think logically, but as she reached up to touch her earring, her wrist brushed against something.

She didn't—

Marinette didn't wear necklaces.

Panicked, she grasped at her throat, feeling the coldness of metal there. It was thin, barely noticeable, but when she touched it, she was able to feel the blunt edges all the way around until there was a tiny block of some sort at the front.

And ever since she'd become aware of it, it was all she could feel.

“There's—” Marinette choked out, trying to yank the necklace off, but all it did was dig the metal into her skin. “What the fuck is this?”

“What?” Adrien questioned, concern clear in his voice.

Her voice shook as she replied, “My neck.”

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“There's... I have a necklace on,” she explained. There was no clasp, no sign that she would be able to get it off, and she definitely wasn't strong enough to break it.

It was a whisper as he confirmed, “I do, too.”

“Can you get it off?” Marinette asked.

After a few moments had passed, she could hear the frustration in his voice as he admitted, “I—no.”

It made her panic increase.

Being placed in a room was bad enough, but for there to be stubborn necklaces on the both of them? It was a similarity that couldn't be ignored.

But the others were talking to each other, still crying and panicking, not at all trying to figure out what was going on.

She cleared her throat.

It was better to try, wasn't it?

The beating of her heart was still prominent as she loudly asked, “Does everyone have a necklace on?”

The talking didn't stop.

“Hey!” Marinette exclaimed, as loud as she could until her voice almost hurt. “Does everyone have a necklace on?”

There were murmurs from that, the rustling of clothing. Then, confirmations were coming out, a chorus of them, all adding on that they weren't able to remove them.

Her eyes were beginning to well up with tears, throat feeling tight, and she couldn't squash the overwhelming feeling of panic. It wasn't—there was no logical explanation for what had happened, not one that she was willing to accept.

She buried her face in her hands, leaning onto Adrien, not wanting to be separate from him.

And when he wrapped an arm around her, she could feel that he was shaking.

That made it even worse.

Adrien was—he was someone that was always bright and smiling. He was kind to everyone, had an infectious laugh that made her feel with happiness when she heard it, and she'd never seen him upset.

It was the first time being with him when he wasn't okay, and it didn't add up the image of him that he'd shown her thus far.

It wasn't her that spoke up next.

“Where was everyone? Before this?” a male asked—Nino, she thought.

There was a murmur of city names, all across the country—nowhere near her—before it became apparent that each and every one of them was going for career and future advice, the very same reason she'd been in the car with Adrien and Ivan in the first place.

It was hard to swallow.

The lights turned on.

Marinette squeezed her eyes shut on instinct, the sudden light too much for the darkness she'd become accustomed to, and she peered through her eyelashes a few times, trying to adjust.

“Marinette,” Adrien whispered, accompanied by him gently cupping her cheek. “You okay?”

She nodded her head.

And when she opened her eyes, able to see properly for the first time since she'd woken up, she was greeted by the sight of an empty room. There wasn't any furniture; no seats, no curtains, and no windows on the walls. There was a door, but it wasn't budging when a male was trying to tug it open, and the only technology she could spot was on the corners of the ceiling, little spheres of black that stood out against the white.

The people—

They were close to her age. No one stood out with their youthfulness, and there weren't any wrinkles between them.

“Ivan!” she called out, tugging on Adrien's sleeve to pull him along to the slumped figure in the corner.

There wasn't a response.

But he—he was still breathing. Ivan had fallen onto the ground, not up against the wall, but his chest was still moving.

Adrien helped her to prop him up.

Marinette was on her knees, hands on Ivan's shoulders, unsure on how to wake him up. Everyone else in the room seemed to be conscious at that moment; some had only just awoken, panicking all over again, while others were awkwardly trying to explain all they knew to them.

Which wasn't a lot.

“What do we—what do we do?” Marinette asked, voice cracking as she stared up at Adrien.

He looked as uncertain as her.

While the lights turned on, nothing else happened. Marinette ended up sitting on the floor with Adrien, the two of them on either side of Ivan, just waiting for him to wake up. Her eyes were stinging, heart still beating rapidly, and she felt too exhausted to talk, so they just held hands.

Adrien squeezed hers gently.

The others in the room were starting to calm down, too. No one was banging at the door any more, not after the first few times had failed, and colliding into it with their body only led to pain and the door not budging at all.

There was a blinking red dot on one of the black spheres on the ceiling.

“Do you—do you think it's a camera?” she whispered.

Adrien's voice was equally as quiet. “Could be.”

If it was—that wouldn't be too outlandish, would it? Marinette was sure by that point that they'd all been drugged and thrown into the room, and the lack of windows didn't help with trying to know what the time was. Their phones had been taken, any belongings and bags they'd had with them left behind, not there any more.

She had a piece of chewing gum in her pocket, but that was it.

She was thirsty.

When Ivan came to, he was groggy.

It was a groan at first, the slightest twitch of his fingers, before he was bringing up a hand to touch his face, eyebrows furrowed as he made a noise of discomfort.

“Hey,” Adrien started, reaching out and taking his friend's hand into his own. “You okay there, buddy?”

Ivan cleared his throat. “I—what?”

What were they supposed to _say_?

“You've—you've been knocked out a while, sleepyhead,” Marinette said, trying to go for casual, but even to her her voice sounded off. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I took a nap for the wrong amount of time,” Ivan muttered, rubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands. Then, he blinked, finally taking in their surroundings, and the confusion was clear on his face. “What—”

But it wasn't any of them that spoke next.

“You're all awake now,” a voice said. And it—it was coming from the ceiling, all around, an echo from the emptiness of the room. “Welcome, children.”

It was a girl that stood up and demanded, “What is _this_?”

But the answer they got wasn't verbal.

Instead, the girl gasped in pain, her knees buckling as she fell onto the floor, hands clutching—_clawing—_at the collar.

It was over in a matter of seconds, but there was no betraying what they'd seen.

The paleness of the girl's skin and how heavy she was breathing supported it, too.

“Quiet,” the voice demanded, but it—it wasn't quite a voice, not really. It sounded like someone had typed in a few sentences to a text-to-speech application, making it so there wasn't any emotion put into the words, let alone it sounding like an actual person. “You will speak only when asked to. If you act out, we will not hesitate to punish you. Are we clear?”

Plural.

Shakily, Marinette's held onto Adrien's hand again, scooting back until she was able to feel Ivan against her, too. It was as close to comfort as she could get at that moment.

It was just—

It was _insane_.

Her stomach churned uncomfortably.

“Now,” the voice started. “You've had time to converse. What have you found out?”

There was silence.

“Good.”

It was coming from four speakers, all on each other of the ceiling.

“Twenty years ago, the government approved of an operation that would better the country. And this time, the twelve of you are a part of that,” they explained, without emotion and no amount of compassion whatsoever. It was cold, to the point, and awful to hear. “You've been selected from around the country to participate. Congratulations.”

But what—what had the requirements been?

Marinette had never had the highest grades in class.

“You are no longer in France.”

Her throat felt tight.

“If any of you manages to escape the building, you will be shot on sight,” they stated. “We advise staying inside.”

_Shot_?

She'd never seen an actual gun in person in her whole life.

“Now,” the voice said. “Let's establish the rules, shall we?”

Her hands were shaking.

“When your name is called out, you will use the door to exit. Outside, there will be a pick of twelve bags,” they announced. “If you attempt to pick up more than one, or if others follow you outside, you will be punished.”

But this—

“Choose wisely,” they said. “The weapons inside will decide on your future.”

It was hard to breathe.

“Only one of you is leaving,” they elaborated, emotionless and robotic. The only time she heard the voice normally was in stupid videos on the internet where a person didn't want to use their own voice. “The twelve of you have a time limit of three days. If more than one remains, you will all die.”

Remains.

The word was all she could focus on.

“Remember to stay within the building, or you will be shot,” they reminded them. “The objective is to survive—you may kill each other in any means necessary.”

Her hands felt cold.

It was a male that spoke up to shout, “Is this a fucking joke?”

And just like the last, he ended up clutching his throat, the collar shocking him.

She reached up to touch her own.

It just—it felt like metal, a collar that belonged more on an animal than her.

But that wasn't the case there, was it?

Ivan was crying behind her.

“If you misbehave, you will be shocked,” they stated. “There will be cameras all throughout the building to monitor you. If anyone destroys one, the bomb in your necklace will trigger.”

She grip tightened on the accessory.

“You will not survive it.”

But what—what was she supposed to do with that information? It shouldn't have been possible, but two had already been shocked—the both of them still clutching at their necklaces, terrified—and she didn't want to test out the other threats.

“Time begins now, orphans,” they announced. “Go to the door when your name is called.”

It made her feel sick.

Was that the connection between them?

But Marinette—her mother was still _alive_.

“Boy one,” they began. “Nathaniel.”

The male that stood up was thin, had no jacket on, and was shaking as he stood up. He pushed his friend down onto the floor, telling him not to follow—that they couldn't risk him being hurt—and it was with an audible breath that Nathaniel put his hand onto the door handle.

He turned around to look at them.

He didn't meet her gaze for more than a second, but her stomach plummeted when he did.

And when he turned the door handle, it really did open.

It closed behind him.

No one dared to move.

The only noise was of sobbing. No one wanted to talk, didn't want to dare press to see whether they'd be hurt, too, and Marinette was straining, trying to listen to see whether Nathaniel had gotten hurt for exiting the door.

But there wasn't any sign that anything had happened at all.

There wasn't any sound from outside the room.

“Girl one.” Barely a minute had passed. “Sabrina.”

There was no one to hug the girl, no one promising to find her. Instead, a wisp of a girl stood up on her shaking legs, eyes visibly wet from her tears, and her glasses were crooked as she approached the door.

She didn't look back at them.

They couldn't—whoever was doing this to them couldn't be serious about wanting them to kill each other, could they? The closest thing to a weapon she'd held had been scissors, or the bat during some games, but she'd never been particularly talented at hitting her target.

She cried when she was angry.

Marinette couldn't—

“Boy two,” it intoned. “Adrien.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“No, no,” Marinette said, desperate as she stood up with him, pulling him into a tight hug. She buried her head into his chest, Adrien holding her just as tightly, as though trying to convey everything through his actions, rather than his words. “_Adrien_—”

“I'll look for you,” he whispered, brushing her hair away from her forehead, pressing a kiss there. “We'll—we'll be together, okay? Ivan, too.”

She choked out a sob.

“I have to go,” he murmured, sounding ever-so-close to tears. “I... I'll see you soon.”

Watching him walk to the door, to see how tense his shoulders were, along with the smile wiped from his face was hard.

And then, he tried to show her a smile, but it looked more like a grimace before he slipped through the open door.

Ivan put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but all she could do was put her face into her hands and cry.

-x-

Marinette was the last to be called.

The room felt cold when she was alone.

Ivan had left with the promise to meet up with her, the fifth out of six boys, and she was still crying by that point. The others in the room were in much the same condition; no one seemed to be holding it together.

But why would they when they'd been told to kill each other?

It was supposed to be a trip to prepare them for life outside of foster care, not fighting other orphans for a chance to make it out alive.

She wasn't—Marinette's mother was still _alive_.

She was just comatose.

Her hands were still shaking when she got up to her feet, footsteps echoing in the room, going towards the door and grasping the handle tight enough for her knuckles to turn white.

Her stomach felt tight.

When the door opened, there wasn't anyone on the other side. A light above her head flickered on, indicating that it was motion-sensitive. It was a long hallway free of people, only a metal rack in front of her that had one bag left on it.

It was hers, then.

Marinette picked it up with a shaking hand.

It didn't feel very heavy.

She slipped her arms into it, settling it on her back before grasping at the strap for something to hold onto to, slowly taking a few steps down the hallway.

She couldn't hear anyone.

But Adrien—Adrien had said that he'd wait for her, didn't he?

Ivan had already come out, his friend that he'd known for years, but that didn't—that didn't mean that he'd abandon her, did it?

She hoped not.

They may have only known each other for a few months, but Adrien—she trusted him, didn't she? He was always kind enough to walk her to her bus, even though his was in the opposite direction, ignoring her protests and saying that he wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. Their home situations meant that they couldn't meet up outside of college often.

It wasn't a secret that they were both in foster care, but it had never been the basis of their relationship.

She tried the handle of the first door she came across, but it didn't open.

She didn't break down into tears.

Instead, Marinette bit into the inside of her cheek, the idea that the surge of pain would help her concentrate and pull herself together—

The second didn't open.

She decided to skip the rest of the doors of the hallway, walking until there was a turn, and the lights flickered on with her arrival, revealing a grand entrance. There was a winding staircase on either side before they both connected to the next floor, marble flooring, and a matching hallway on the other side, along with an archway in the middle that led elsewhere.

What stood out to her the most was the dust, grime, and clutter that was visible. None of the flooring was clear; the furniture in sight had toppled over, bits and pieces broken off, while in some cases, only a little bit remained.

It wasn't a nice sight.

She took in a breath.

The others—they'd left, hadn't they?

The front door was right there, but it was boarded up with wood, so she couldn't see any natural light.

No one had tried to take them off.

If the others were listening to the rules given, actually participating—

But why wouldn't they?

Marinette took a step back into the previous hallway, slipping the backpack off. Although it hadn't been her intention to believe everything from the get-go, the lack of other people waiting outside was making her nervous.

It was better to be prepared.

And so, it was with a deep breath that she looked within the bag. There were a few energy bars, tiny snacks that she'd really have to ration if she was going to be kept there for three days—if she _survived—_along with a bottle of water.

Beside it, there was a spoon.

Incredulous, she pulled the cutlery out.

“Fucking really?” she muttered, bitter.

It had—it had to be a joke, didn't it? The cameras had to be there for a reason—filming them, perhaps, a prank that would be aired to the public—

But people normally signed agreements for that sort of thing, didn't they?

There wasn't any fine print that had suggested she'd be drugged and shoved in a strange house anywhere on the pamphlet she'd been given.

It had to be better than nothing, didn't it?

She almost laughed at that.

With the backpack on again, she was thankful that her shoes didn't have heels. Her trainers were a bit worn, sure, but they didn't echo as she took a step on the marble floor, inspecting the area around her.

Instead of going up the stairs, and risking them creaking, she walked across to the opposite hallway.

The first door was locked, too.

Marinette breathed out a frustrated sigh.

The voice she heard was a familiar one. “_Stop_!”

It was coming from behind, echoing throughout the room, and Marinette turned on her heel, ready to call out Ivan's name before the lights flickered on from someone else's movement, illuminating the scene before her.

There was a sickening noise as Ivan fell down the stairs, crumpling into a heap at the bottom. But before words could even leave her, she could see someone else running down the stairs, going straight for him.

Any thoughts of them wanting to help him disappeared when she saw the knife be plunged into his chest.

Ivan's white t-shirt was damp with patches of red in seconds.

Marinette raised her hand to her mouth, trying to keep her choked noises in, nauseated and in complete disbelief—

The knife went in again.

The person—a girl, she realised—was sat on Ivan's stomach, continuing to plunge the blade into him frantically, not stopping despite the fact that he'd ceased all movements.

He wasn't—

He wasn't _moving_.

Above her, the light turned off.

Marinette didn't dare move, didn't want to trigger the sensor—

The girl continued to stab him.

The next noise that came was from the speakers.

“Boy five, Ivan,” they said. “Dead.”

She couldn't breathe.

“Eleven remaining.”

Ivan, he—

He was so _nice_. He used to share his cake with her between breaks, was too shy to talk to his crush, but more than happy to tell her all about the childhood he'd shared with Adrien, cheering her on and helping her in any way that he could—

He wasn't supposed to be in a pool of his own blood, staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

She almost gagged.

Her hand was shaking as she continued to cover her mouth, not daring to move. If she did, the lights would flicker on and cause the girl to look her way, and that was something she wasn't prepared to deal with.

But the girl was still sat on top of Ivan. She'd stopped stabbing, leaving the knife in his chest as she lifted up her bloodied hands to stare at them, visibly shaking.

Then, Marinette could hear her sobbing.

The bloody hands were pressed against her face as she cried, wiping away the tears, leaving streaks of red all over the pale skin.

The girl continued to cry.

Marinette was still pressed against the wall, blinking back tears, even going as far as to try and convince herself that it was all a joke—that it was practical effects that were put in place to scare her. But she'd never been an important person, was far too insignificant for someone to do something so elaborate to.

The only person she'd felt special to wasn't there.

It was hard to swallow.

The girl stood up eventually, wiping away her tears on her jacket before reaching down and taking the knife from Ivan's chest.

Droplets of blood fell on the floor.

She walked back up the stairs, never once looking back in Marinette's direction.

Still, she didn't dare to move.

Ivan was—I van was staring up at the ceiling, blood seeping out of his body; from the wounds in his chest, the back of his head where he'd fallen, and she was able to make out that his ankle was in an awkward position, not one that was natural at all.

She clutched the spoon tightly to her chest.

Instead of checking on his body—to be sure, absolutely certain that it wasn't fake—Marinette slowly took a step backwards into the hallway, determined to try the other doors.

The lights turned on above her.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, hands clammy as she tried the knobs on each door, growing increasingly frustrated as they refused to open.

All of them were shut.

Panicked, she ran a hand through her hair, gripping at the roots tightly as she crouched down, trying to think her actions through. Being impulsive wasn't a good option—she had to be smart, to try and listen out for noises, to use the lights to her advantage.

The timer wasn't long. Within the time she'd crouched down, they had already turned off, not responding to the tiniest of movements—it was the big ones that triggered them.

She swallowed.

The hallways didn't echo as much as the entrance.

But the hallways were dead ends; both of them had all the doors locked, the rooms inaccessible. The voice had said that they were to stay within the building, but, surely, that meant that there was somewhere else to go within.

When she walked back into the entrance, holding the spoon tightly in one hand, she didn't look at Ivan's body. She knew that if she did, she'd break down into tears, would succumb to her emotions at such an unfortunate time.

She had to find Adrien, didn't she?

He didn't—he didn't _know_.

There was a chance that the announcement had been broadcast through all the speakers, for everyone to hear—but he didn't know that she was there, that she'd stood and watched as Ivan had died.

Because he was dead, wasn't he?

Marinette had stayed in the shadows, letting the light turn off, and watched it all happen.

Instead of going up the stairs, she followed the archway underneath.

It led to what she assumed to be a dining room. The table had been knocked over, legs broken off, and glass was smashed on the floor, a clear sign that no one had cleaned up the place.

There were two doors to choose from, one on either side.

The first was a large kitchen.

Marinette tried to close the door as quietly as possible, taking a slow step inside, the sound of her heartbeat echoing in her head as the lights flickered on. The kitchen had island counters in the middle, stools that had been knocked over and destroyed, cupboards left open, and a small seating area on the other side by large window that had been covered by wooden boards.

Shakily, she walked further inside, terrified and wide-eyed as she peered around the counters, trying to see whether anyone was hiding behind the first set.

No one was there.

But as she swallowed, slowly moving onto the next area, she had to readjust her grip on the spoon, hands far too clammy to hold onto it properly.

Someone was crouched down there.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was a boy.

He—it was the one that Nathaniel, the boy that had been picked first, had pushed down, stopping him from following.

But he wasn't—he wasn't jumping at her, didn't even have a weapon clutched in his hands. If anything, he looked terrified at the sight of her from the floor where he'd been trying to make himself as small as possible.

“You—” Marinette's voice broke. “Why aren't you attacking me?”

The look on his face could only be described as horrified. “Why would I?”

That didn't mean anything, not when she didn't know him.

Not taking her eyes off of him, Marinette backed away, using her free hand to feel for the countertop. She opened the drawers, looking to see whether there was anything to use but—

But it was empty.

There wasn't a single knife, no extra cutlery for her to use. There was no sign of tinned foods of any sort, and the fridge wasn't even plugged in.

It was only for a few seconds that she took her eyes off the other person in the room, and all he'd done was get to his feet to see what she was doing.

If he didn't want to hurt her—wasn't it suspicious that his first instinct had been to hide?

If she hadn't checked, he would've been able to walk up behind her, would've had the chance to attack while she was unprepared.

She didn't want to end up like Ivan.

The thought of him made her throat feel tight.

But she couldn't dwell on that. Marinette adjusted her grip on the spoon, whirling around and pointing it at him and asked, “Where's your weapon?”

“Are you—” A laugh of disbelief left him. “Are you mugging me right now?”

Her voice quivered as she replied, “Maybe.”

“You look like you're going to fall over, dude,” he replied, going as far as to hold his hands up and wiggle his fingers. “I don't have anything, see?”

“And why should I trust you?” she shot back. “You're—I don't know you.”

He suggested, “Because I haven't tried to do anything to do?”

“Yet,” Marinette pointed out.

“I'm not going to, I swear,” he insisted, staring at her imploringly. “I'm just—I'm looking for my friend, okay? But I heard screams, so I hid in here.”

But the screams could've been because of him, couldn't they? Marinette had been the last to exit, hadn't seen what had happened for everyone to disperse—

“Did you hear?” she asked. “The announcement?”

He licked his lips. “The death?”

She continued to point the spoon at him. “Who was it?”

“I-I don't know?” he stuttered. “A guy, right? There's only—there's only been one so far.”

A guy.

Ivan had been reduced to a _guy_.

She was angry, infuriated that it had come to that at all, and that the boy in front of her—who was so much taller, even from a distance—had forgotten his name in passing, hadn't even thought to try and remember it.

Because Ivan wasn't important to him, was he?

She wasn't either.

However, it confirmed her theory that it had been broadcast through all the rooms. That meant that it was the first death—that no matter how injured the others might be, Ivan was the only one to stop breathing.

“That was my friend,” she whispered. “He was my _friend_!”

“I'm sorry,” the boy replied, daring to take a step closer, still holding his hands up. “I'm sorry that happened, but I had nothing to do with it, okay? I haven't even got a weapon, remember?”

She turned the spoon around, ready to use the handle if needed.

Marinette demanded, “Where is it?”

“In my bag,” he answered. “It's—it's a fucking water pistol, okay? It's not—it's not even a _weapon_. I mean, come on! You've got a spoon!”

And as he took another step forward, Marinette took one back.

“I'm leaving,” she said, feeling behind her for the doorway. “If you follow me, I'll—_I'll—_”

“You'll hurt me?” he prompted, eyebrows knitted together. “I haven't—I don't want to hurt you! We could—I don't know—team up? Are you searching for someone, too?”

There wasn't anything to prove that he was trustworthy. “I don't know you.”

“I'm Nino,” he said, putting a hand on his chest. “I'm—you're the one that figured out about the necklaces, aren't you?”

Marinette didn't say anything to that.

“You wanted to help each other back then,” he pointed out, taking a step closer. “That—why does that have to change now?”

Her eyes felt itchy. “Because I saw someone stab my friend to death?”

“That wasn't me,” Nino insisted. “I don't—I'm not going to hurt you, or anyone else, okay? I just want to find my friend.”

He was taller than her, so much—

Her voice shook. “You don't want to hurt me?”

“Fuck, no,” he replied, shaking his head with enough force to dislodge his spectacles from the bridge of his nose. Then, as he pushed them back up, he added on, “I figure... we have a better chance of getting out of this if we team up, don't we?”

She didn't let her arm fall down to her side. “Only one's getting out.”

“Or so they're saying,” Nino said. “We don't—we don't know whether that's really true, do we?”

They didn't know anything.

He came to stand in front of her, keeping eye contact as he gently took ahold of her wrist, putting it down so she was no longer pointing the spoon at him. “Let's save this for someone else's eyeballs, shall we?”

She wasn't sure whether she laughed or let out a sob.

“I'm—I'm going to get my pistol out, okay?” Nino quietly said, gesturing to his bag. “It's a water one, I swear. I'm not—I'm not going to do anything to you.”

It seemed he was sincere about those words. Nino retrieved the tiny pistol—brightly-coloured, made of plastic and obviously a child's toy—and held it in his hand, offering her a shaky smile when she hadn't moved away from him.

“I don't trust you,” she confessed in a whisper.

“That's fine,” Nino answered, pushing up the sleeves of his jacket. “Can I know your name, at least?”

She swallowed. “Marinette.”

“Hi,” he said, smile still not reaching his eyes. “I wish I could say it's nice to meet you, but it's really not.”

She breathed out audibly. “The feeling's mutual.”

There wasn't much of a plan.

Nino's pistol was filled with water, but trying to turn on the tap of the sink proved that there wasn't any running water in the building. That meant no refills for him, though the only possible use they could think of was for him to squirt someone's face in an attempt to get the upper-hand.

“I'll blind 'em so you can stab them,” Nino decided, spinning the gun around on his hand. “It'll work great, I'm sure.”

His way with dealing with the situation was humour.

Marinette wasn't sure what hers was, but she felt numb.

Her eyes hurt, but she wasn't crying any more.

Nino told her of his friend Nathaniel; the first to be called, the tall male with pale skin and red hair. The only other person with red hair had been a girl.

And in return, she described Adrien to him.

There was no need for Ivan, was there?

Except—

“I think his backpack might still be there,” Marinette said, hopping down from the countertop where she'd been sitting as they planned. “The girl—she didn't take it with her.”

Nino asked, “Are you sure it was there?”

“No,” she admitted. “But we're going past it, aren't we?”

Nino looked frazzled as he ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, okay. But we can't—we can't loiter around forever, right? Not everyone's going to be thinking like us.”

There wasn't a lot of trust between them, but Marinette was willing to give it a try. She didn't have the confidence, let alone the will, to try and murder him. As Nino had said, he hadn't actually done anything to warrant it thus far; perhaps, if he started to act shifty, she might have to trip him over and run in the opposite direction.

She wasn't prepared to stab anything with the handle of a spoon any time soon.

“Ready?” she asked him quietly.

She could hear it as he swallowed. “Sure, yeah. Let's go.”

The door didn't creak as it opened.

The lights in the dining room flickered on with the movement, illuminating the wrecked area, shining on the floor and revealing that next to nothing had changed since the first time she'd walked in.

Marinette gripped the spoon tightly.

Nino was behind her, the toy in his hand.

Rather than talking, she gestured to the door beside them or the archway leading out to the entrance, silently asking him which he would prefer to go to.

Trying the door proved it to be locked.

It was to the entrance, then.

Marinette was still leading, but she was glancing over her shoulder, checking whether Nino was still there with her. He didn't seem to be focused on trying to attack her; rather, his attention was on the area around them, as it should've been.

It didn't make her feel any more comfortable with him.

They were almost at the entrance when the speakers blared to announce, “Girl five, Mireille, dead. Ten remaining.”

The lights weren't on in front of them—wherever it had happened, it wasn't down there.

With a look behind her to check Nino was still there, capable and not breaking down, she took the first step into the lavish entranceway. The lights flickered on without delay, lighting up the area and showing the growing puddle of blood at the bottom of one staircase.

There was no backpack.

Marinette went to the opposite staircase instead.

It didn't creak as they went up.

Her footsteps were quiet, Nino's trainers meaning he wasn't putting them in danger by the sound of them, and she paused near the top, trying to peer over the banister to inspect the area.

At the top, there was a large window that was blocked with wooden boards again, while the hallway went out on either side, the amount of doors unable to be seen from the lack of light.

She pointed to the right, as it was easiest to go that way first.

Nino nodded, no hint of a smile on his face.

The floor of the hallway was wooden, scuffed with bloodstains standing out against the natural colour of the board, and cobwebs and dust had built up along the walls. Footsteps were visible in the dust on the floor, showing that someone had walked to each and every door along the way.

With a deep breath, she put her hand on the first handle.

It wasn't locked.

The lights were on before the door swung fully open.

Someone was already inside, then.

She wasn't sure whether Nino realised that, too busy scanning the area. It was an office of sorts; a bookcase with books that were mostly scattered across the floor, a desk in the middle of the room with a large chair behind it.

It was the only hiding place.

Marinette mimed for the two of them to stay quiet, stepping inside and standing on either side of the door, allowing it to close behind her.

She waited.

Someone had to be in there—the lights didn't turn on _that_ quickly—and hiding behind the desk, ducked down and out of sight. There was no knowing what weapon they had; Marinette didn't want to risk getting hurt by walking closer to inspect them.

And so, they waited.

The lights timed out, turning off.

She stayed as still as possible.

And when they did turn on, it wasn't from her or Nino. It was barely a few moments after they had gone out that someone popped their head up from the desk, a mop of blond hair able to be seen as they peered over the top before disappearing back underneath.

Her spoon clattered to the ground.

“Adrien?” she called.

The head that popped up again confirmed it.

She rushed across the room, ignoring Nino's exclamation for her to wait, skidding on the wooden floor to a stop before she was pulled into a tight embrace.

Adrien was murmuring her name, holding her tightly, burying his face into her hair, keeping her close.

And as she returned the hug, trying to convey how thankful she was to see him okay—that he was _alive—_her eyes were welling up with tears of relief and frustration, a confusing mix of emotions that she didn't quite know how to deal with.

“I'm so happy you're here,” Adrien confessed, pulling back to look into her eyes. “You're—you actually found me.”

She sniffed. “Weren't you supposed to find me?”

“I was planning to,” he assured her, utterly sincere. “But things—they got a bit out of hand.”

“What happened?” she whispered, reaching up and cupping his face, checking for injuries. “You're not hurt, are you?”

“I'm fine,” Adrien answered, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “But—but some people are taking this seriously. I... someone got stabbed, earlier when I was waiting for you.”

He wasn't specifying the name.

It could've meant that someone other than Ivan had been attacked, but they were still alive. After all, the announcer wasn't commenting on every injury, were they?

“I'm so glad you're okay,” Marinette breathed. “You're—I was so scared that I wouldn't find you.”

“Sorry I couldn't find you first,” he whispered, placing a chaste kiss to her lips. “Looks like you're the practical one here of the two of us.”

She frowned. “Don't say that.”

“I was too scared to leave this room,” he pointed out.

“Adrien—”

“Like, sorry for interrupting,” Nino started. Turning her head, she noticed that he was still standing awkwardly by the door. “I'm glad you two found each other, but don't you think it's dangerous to just—to stay here, yeah?”

“And who are you—”

“Nino,” Marinette interrupted. “That's Nino. He's—he helped me look for you, so we're searching for his friend now.”

Adrien blinked. “You... joined someone?”

She shrugged. “I kind of stumbled across him.”

“I resent that,” Nino quipped.

“You were hiding in the kitchen,” she shot back.

“And your boyfriend was behind a desk!” Nino retorted. “He didn't even realise we were in the room!”

Adrien grimaced, running a hand through his hair. “Not my smartest move, I admit.”

Rather than focus on that, Nino asked him, “Where's your weapon, dude?”

“Oh.” Adrien crouched down, retrieving the backpack that he'd left under the desk along with a frying pan that he was able to pick up easily with one hand. “This.”

“Better than ours,” Marinette muttered.

“Water pistol,” Nino announced, gesturing at his own before at her. “And a spoon. You're clearly the winner here, pal.”

Adrien's cheer wasn't sincere at all.

Marinette almost laughed.

She didn't know whether it was from the uncomfortable feeling that was remaining in her stomach, the constant thumping of her heart as she continued to panic, or the influx of emotions that made her feel so off at that moment. The most stress she'd had in her life had been her exams, and that hardly compared to the situation that they were in.

“You sure you can use that?” Marinette asked as Adrien joined them by the door, both his hands on the handle of the frying pan.

It was non-stick.

She wondered whether the blood would drip off of it.

Adrien looked horrified when she'd said that aloud.

He flexed his fingers, swapping the grip to one hand only. “I think so.”

“You're our best defence here,” Nino pointed out. “If you go first and get hit, we'll be fucked.”

“Real positive thinking there, thanks,” Adrien said in reply to that.

But there was logic behind that. For the three of them to walk out together, to move in a formation—didn't it mean that it was more likely for them to make a target of themselves? If it resulted in them having to duck and hide, most of the places had only been big enough for one or two of them to hide. The space behind the counter, the desk that Adrien had been hidden in—they weren't big enough for all of them.

And so, she voiced her opinions. “It's—it's stupid for all of us to leave, isn't it?”

“Are _you_ stupid?” Adrien blurted. “I'm not—I'm not letting you go out there alone. What if—what if I never see you again?”

The fact that his voice cracked at the end made it even worse.

“It always ends up badly when people split up,” Nino said. “It's in all the films, isn't it? Let's _not_ do that.”

She swallowed. “If you're sure.”

“Yeah, dude,” Nino insisted. “If you two—if you don't want to help me any more, I mean. I get it. I won't pretend I won't be pissed, but, like you said, you don't know me—”

“I'll help,” Marinette interrupted. “You—you helped me get to Adrien, so I'm not leaving you already.”

Adrien cleared his throat. “I guess you can count me in, too.”

Nino's sigh of relief was audible. “I—thank you.”

“Thank me when we find your friend,” she suggested, reaching out and awkwardly patting his shoulder. “Now, who wants to go first?”

“Not Adrien,” Nino said.

Adrien looked like he wanted to protest, but he didn't.

And Marinette—Marinette remembered how Nino hadn't taken the lead when it was just the two of them. Sure, he'd been brave and talked her down from walking away and leaving him alone, but he hadn't been the one to lead them up the stairs, and definitely hadn't opened the door first.

It was enough that he'd had her back.

“I'll go,” she decided.

“Marinette,” Adrien started. “You—”

“I'm going,” she reiterated, looking up and staring into his green-coloured eyes. “I'm small. I won't be see over both of your shoulders.”

Nino snorted. “That's your line?”

“Fuck off,” she responded.

The laugh that escaped him almost sounded genuine.

With the information that other than the kitchen, all of downstairs was locked and unable to be accessed, the plan was for them to continue down the hallway, ducking between the doors and checking whether they were empty.

Marinette suggested her going out into the hallway first, running to check the nearest door before either going in or running back into the office, but neither of them approved of the plan.

“It's the safest,” she insisted, frustrated.

“You'll be alone,” Adrien whispered, holding her hand tightly. “You—I can't let you out there.”

But when it was a matter of trying to find safety—more than a room with a boarded window that they could only hide behind the desk in—she didn't want to risk him any more than necessary.

She couldn't bare to see him ending up like Ivan.

“You don't get to decide that for me,” she murmured, her voice shaking. “You—I'm faster than you. I can check this.”

“What if someone's out there?” he asked. “What then?”

“I'll run back in here,” she replied. “If they see me, they'll—they'll think I'm alone, won't they? Then, you two can help me if they pursue me in here.”

It sounded foolproof, the most logical plan of action for them, but Adrien looked close to crying from the mere suggestion of it. He was holding onto her hand tightly, as though it would make her stay, and she felt a surge of affection for him.

He really did care about her, didn't he?

“Let me,” Marinette pleaded, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Trust me, okay?”

She could feel his breath on her skin. “Okay.”

The plan was for them to listen out, to count to twenty, and if she wasn't back within that time, it was to be assumed that she'd gotten into the planned room—only if they didn't hear a scream, that was.

She tied the laces of her shoes again, just to be safe.

With her backpack on her back, the spoon tightly in her hand, she grasped onto the handle and wedged the door open, able to see that the lights in the hallway had been off.

She darted out, triggering the lights to turn on, crossing the hallway to wiggle the handle.

It was open.

She pushed the door open, looking around the room frantically, taking in her surroundings as the door closed behind her.

It was a bedroom.

Just to be safe, Marinette stayed still, trying to be as immobile as possible for the lights to time out. It was the safest way to enter a room, wasn't it? If no one had attacked her upon her entrance, they would be the ones to trigger the motion sensors, just as Adrien had.

She didn't know whether to call him an idiot or not for that. Marinette had yet to be in the same position to find out if she reacted the same way.

They turned off relatively quickly. Marinette didn't hold her breath, tried to keep her breathing even, and stayed put, the faintest flex of her fingers not triggering her sensors.

She adjusted her grip on the spoon.

There was no denying that her and Nino had gotten the worst weapons. She couldn't imagine anything else that could've topped them with their uselessness.

Marinette took a cautious step forward.

The room was illuminated; the dust-covered bed in view, the boarded up windows, a vanity table, the closet door that was slightly ajar, and a fully closed door that seemed to lead to another room.

She went closer to the closet first, noticing that the door was a slide one.

It was dark on the inside.

With a deep breath, she used her free hand to pull it open as much as she could with a single movement, jumping back for safety as she waited for a reaction.

There wasn't one.

But there could—there could still be someone in there. The door had barely opened halfway.

And when she shoved it the rest of the way open, all there was were empty hangers on the railing. There wasn't any extra clothing, no sheets for the bed, and definitely no shoes hidden away. It was as though it had never been used in the first place.

She didn't relax just yet, though.

The bedroom door opened once more, Adrien stumbling through, almost falling over as he closed it behind him. He jumped in surprise when he saw her on the opposite site of the room before smiling sheepishly, raising a hand to wave at her.

But he was alone. “Where's Nino?”

“Coming after,” he replied. “We—we heard some noises, so I came alone first.”

She hadn't heard them.

They'd agreed not to split up any further than her checking out the area in the beginning.

“Welcome,” she said, showing him the palm of her free hand as she gestured to the room around them, “to my humble abode.”

Adrien's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. “Nice place you got here.”

“Thanks,” Marinette said, adjusting her grip on the spoon before she started to cross the room.

Rather than close the distance between them, Marinette pulled up the duvet—causing dust to fly into the air—and kneeled down, checking underneath the mattress. There was enough space for something to fit down there—her, definitely—but no one was underneath.

“No one's here,” she concluded.

Adrien offered her a hand to help her up.

She accepted it with a grateful smile.

And as she stood up, he pulled her into a tight hug again, arms wrapped around her waist and holding her against his chest. At first, Marinette didn't return it, too surprised that he'd felt the need to hug her again so soon. She looped her arms around his neck, her weapon still held in her hand, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

“I was so worried,” he whispered.

“If you heard noises,” she started. “Did you—did you think it was me?”

“Yes.” He swallowed. “I—I really did, that's why I came first.”

Maybe she was more alike with Nino than she thought. “What? To come see my corpse?”

“There wasn't an announcement,” he pointed out. “I just—I wanted to make sure you're okay. I can't... I don't want to let you out of my sight, Marinette. Not when—not when I've already lost Ivan.”

His voice had been quiet, almost a whisper, and filled with so much emotion that she felt her throat starting to feel tight just from hearing it. She wasn't going to correct, not insert that she'd lost Ivan, too, to say that she'd been _there—_

She wasn't ready to share that piece of information.

Instead, Marinette closed her eyes. “I'll try and stay close.”

“_Please_.” His voice cracked.

As nice as it was to hold him, to be certain that he was okay, Marinette had to pull away, worried that it was only the two of them. She approached the door, standing to the side where the door wouldn't hit her when it was opened, trying to listen out for noises.

It had to have been longer than what they'd agreed on. “You said—you said Nino was coming, too, right?”

“Yes,” Adrien replied, eyebrows knitting together. “You—you don't think he ditched us, do you?”

“I haven't heard anything,” she answered. “Have you?”

“...Nothing loud enough to notice, no,” he admitted, honest. “You don't think... something happened, do you?”

There shouldn't have been an attachment there. Marinette had met Nino only a few hours ago—if it had even been hours in the first place—and all they'd done was make it through the house together.

She whispered, “I don't know.”

Nino had no reason to trust her. And yet, he'd been more than willing to make a truce, to avoid hurting her in favour of finding their friends—not just his. Perhaps, he would've ditched her if they'd stumbled across his first, but that hadn't happened for her to know.

All she knew was that he'd helped her, hadn't he?

She cracked the door open, keeping her body inside to not trigger the sensors. As the doors opened inside, it meant that they didn't swing out, illuminating the hallway with it.

It was designed well in that case.

But the lights were on already.

The door for the office was left open, darkness within the room.

But peering out into the hallway, glancing either side of it, it proved that she couldn't see anyone loitering around. They were bound to be staying within the rooms, trying to avoid conflict—

The door closed quietly.

“He's not there any more,” Marinette announced, not sure what emotion was coming across in her voice. “He—Nino's left.”

Did that mean that if they were to come across each other—would he not offer peace in the future?

He'd been so willing to join together, but he'd taken the first opportunity to run in the opposite direction.

“Oh,” was all Adrien could say.

“It's okay.” Marinette stood upright, straightening her shoulders and trying to get rid of the tension. “It's—we'll be okay.”

“You don't sound too sure,” he remarked, stepping closer and taking her hand into his. And as he linked their fingers loosely together, he asked, “Why don't we camp out here for a bit?”

She almost smiled. “You're not going to suggest cuddling in bed, are you?”

“Well, maybe after we've blocked the door,” he answered, laughter sounding a bit hollow. “I don't know about you, but I am exhausted. Might as well use the bed while we've found one, right?”

Of all the furniture in the room, all they could move was the dressing table. It was wooden, had a mirror built into it, and the chair that had once been used for it was on the floor, two of the legs snapped off and missing.

It took both of them to move it in front of the door, but even then, it was heavy and they had to put it down a few times to regain their breath.

And to make sure, Marinette pushed it with her strength alone.

She was able to move it.

But, surely, if someone was pushing a door and trying to get it—if they were to be met with resistance, they'd stop, wouldn't they?

It made enough noise for them to be alerted that someone was there.

The other door in the room led to a bathroom. The mirror was shattered, glass all over the floor, and the shower, sink, and toilet had no running water.

“I think we should take it in turns to sleep,” Marinette suggested, sitting on the edge of the bed. She didn't dare to take off her shoes or her jacket, wanting to be ready to leave at the slightest notice. “It—I don't want both of us to be asleep if someone breaks into here.”

Adrien nodded. “You can sleep first.”

“You said you're tired,” she pointed out, tucking some of her dark-coloured hair behind her ear. “I'm... I think I'm too keyed up to sleep right now.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You didn't sleep much last night.”

She shrugged. “I'll be okay.”

“Wake me up after a while, will you?” Adrien requested, slipping his backpack off and settling it on the bed between them. The frying pan joined it, too. “I know time's a bit messed up for us, but I really don't want to take advantage right now.”

With a laugh, she asked, “How is it taking advantage?”

“I can't be well rested while you're not,” he replied. “You're—you need to be in good condition, yeah? Both of us do.”

She pushed him down onto the bed. “Sleep.”

“What are you going to do?” he questioned, moving to stand up for a moment, gesturing with his hand for her to get off the bed as well. He lifted up the duvet, making the dust fly off of it and into the air, before he climbed underneath it, scrunching his nose up from the smell.

It was musty, stale, and certainly wasn't nice to look at, but it was better than nothing.

“Sit uncomfortably,” she said, settling down on the floor, resting her back against the frame of the bed. “Keep watch, I guess. Might kick my legs out to trigger the lights.”

“Good luck,” he offered.

She raised her hand up to show him a peace sign.

His laughter sounded a little more genuine.

Time passed slowly.

There wasn't much to do, and her eyes were growing tired. Adrien was asleep behind her, head hidden under the duvet to escape the lights, but she continued to glance over her shoulder to check that he was still there.

It was stupid—she knew that he was there, but it was comforting to see his shoe sticking out from the duvet.

At once point, she pulled her backpack off, settling it between her legs where she'd pulled her knees up to her chest, reaching inside to retrieve one of the energy bars inside.

She ate half of one, hoping that it would quell the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach.

The one water bottle was all that she had. From what she'd seen, there wasn't any running water in the building, so she savoured that, only taking a sip.

It just made her thirstier.

Her lips were already chapped at that point.

The want for lip balm made her laugh quietly in her hands until her eyes were feeling wet, pressing her palms into her eyes, feeling utterly stupid and terrified all at once.

The simple want for something that she couldn't have had all the emotions crashing back onto her; the terror of the situation, the grief from seeing Ivan bleeding out on the ground, unable to defend himself from his attacker—

A choked sob escaped her.

She wiped her eyes roughly.

It wasn't good to dwell on that.

But as she sat there, occasionally stretching her leg out to trigger the lights, there wasn't much else that she could think of. The thought of her college classes, the project that she'd left on her desk at her foster home, of her mother comatose at the hospital—

All of it made it even worse.

She buried her head into her knees.

She didn't deserve what was happening. Marinette had been a good kid; she'd never been arrested, could count on one hand the amount of detentions she'd been given over the years, and she respected every rule of the home that she'd suddenly found herself living in.

Everything had gone downhill when her mother had fallen ill the previous year, with no family members left alive to take care of her, but she'd never thought it would be so bad.

After all, when would she ever think that she'd be forced to kill others to survive?

She wouldn't, she _couldn't—_

“Boy four, Nino.”

The sudden voice had her jumping, staring up at the black sphere on the ceiling where the sound was coming from, utterly terrified.

“Dead,” they announced. “Nine remaining.”

And that was it.

Marinette's stomach heaved.

She threw up the pitiful contents of her stomach on the floor beside her, tears in her eyes as she retched, throat burning.

And once it had stopped—but not the shaking of her arms, nor the clamminess of her palms—she wiped her mouth with her hand, squeezing her eyes shut before running her hands through her hair, gripping at the roots tightly as she wished to be anywhere but there.

She sniffed.

It shouldn't have come to that.

Nino wasn't—she didn't owe him anything, not really, did she? They'd been together for barely any time at all, and he'd bailed on the first chance that he could, not even saying good-bye—

And he was gone.

Adrien slept through her tears.

When he woke up, her eyes were wet, and she was sure that her smile looked like it was bordering on hysterical.

-x-

As it turned out, their plan to camp out in a single room wasn't a good one.

Marinette hadn't taken her shoes off either when she'd climbed into bed, her cold body covered by the musky duvet, and it felt like she'd barely slept when she was jolted awake by a surge of pain spreading through her body.

It originated from the necklace, only lasting for a few seconds.

She'd choked on her spit from it.

And as she coughed, sitting up and clutching at her neck, trying to clear her airway and recover from the abrupt awakening, her vision was blurry from the added tears because of her reaction.

Her face felt hot when she'd calmed down.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Marinette turned to see Adrien standing up in front of her, a hand reaching out but not quite touching her, concern clear on his expression.

She gestured to the necklace, swallowing to try and get rid of the pain in her throat.

“Are you okay?” he questioned.

Instead of answering that, she croaked out, “Did anyone else die?”

Adrien shook his head.

His blond hair was more of a mess than it had ever been; it was sticking up in some places, a large gap in his fringe that was usually brushed to the side, and it was so strange to see him like that. At college, he was always well put together, presentable, and it matched up with his bright smile.

That smile was missing, too.

They hadn't known each other long enough to see the bad sides.

For all Marinette knew, that was how he looked on the weekends. They'd barely seen each other outside of the campus—all she had to go on was his social media, but he rarely had a bad picture on there.

There was a lot of things she didn't know about him.

“Did you get shocked?” she asked, slipping out of the bed, stretching her arms and legs.

Adrien replied, “No, I didn't.”

“Was I asleep long?” she questioned, rolling her neck to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling in it.

“Not sure,” he said, running a hand through his hair and making it more of a mess. “I didn't want to wake you.”

“Thanks,” Marinette said, coming to stand beside him, bumping her shoulder lightly against his arm. “Nice thought, but it seems like it wasn't approved of.”

He frowned. “But you—I don't think you were asleep that long.”

“Sure feels that way,” she commented, leaning down to pull up her socks, adjusting the rest of her clothing to be on properly. “But, hey. Maybe they'll let me nap later.”

“I'm sorry,” Adrien offered. “Are you feeling better now?”

Her eyes strayed to the patch of damp carpet beside them. While she hadn't vomited much up, there was still a bad smell to it. “I feel like shit, honestly.”

“You look it, too,” he replied, taking her hand into his.

Marinette raised her eyebrows. “Thanks for that.”

“I bet I do,” Adrien said, his smile showing his teeth. “I don't have any drool on my face, do I?”

“I'd be a bit concerned if you did, after all this long,” she remarked. “And you look fine, idiot.”

He squeezed her hand. “Are you flirting with me?”

It was easy to focus on him, to feel the soft touch of his hand in hers, to try and forget the horrors that she'd witnessed. For while she'd found him, had been fortunate enough to hug him again, Nino hadn't—

“Maybe,” she replied, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “What if I said I am?”

“Well,” he started, starting to swing their connected hands playfully. “I'd—”

All that escaped him was a noise of pain as he dropped down onto his knees, gasping for breath as he stared wide-eyed at the floor, terrified and breathing heavily.

It was the hands that went to touch the necklace that alerted her to what had happened.

It was just—

It was _sick_.

She held out a hand to help him up.

Adrien's was shaking as he took her up on that offer.

“That—” He coughed. “This doesn't make any sense.”

“When does it ever?” she muttered, taking a strap of her backpack off, rummaging through for her water bottle.

Adrien's gaze flickered between it and her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” she answered, pressing the bottle into his hand. “Sharing is caring, right?”

He gave her a grateful smile before taking a small sip.

Marinette lifted it back to his lips, urging him to drink some more.

As they were both awake, they had a few theories about why he'd been shocked. The announcer had said that they would be punished if they misbehaved, but they'd failed to mention what counted as that in the first place. There was also the possibility that all on them were getting briefly electrocuted, one-by-one, but there was yet to be any proof to confirm any of their ideas.

“We have been in here a while,” Adrien pointed out. “What if—what if it's there way of getting us out there?”

She frowned. “Because no one can murder us in here?”

“Well, yeah,” he agreed, gloomy. “That sounds about right, doesn't it?”

“I want to say no,” she said, pushing her fringe away from her forehead. “But that sounds sick enough to be correct.”

It was when she was shocked again, roughly a few minutes later, that they took that as a confirmation.

Adrien split one of his energy bars in two first, getting her to eat the other half of it.

He was really sweet.

Their plan of strategy wasn't for Marinette to go alone again.

There was only the two of them remaining, and she didn't want to leave him behind. Marinette agreed that she would be best to lead the way when Adrien reminded her that he'd only ran up the stairs and into the office the first time, not having time to explore the rest of the building.

After they moved the vanity to the side, Marinette cracked the door open slightly, revealing that the lights were on in the hallway.

The plan was to go to the next room alone, to check whether it was open.

They shared a nod before Marinette led the way to the other door, keeping her footsteps quiet on the floorboards, the knob of the door cold her hands as she turned it—

It was locked.

Adrien walked along to the next, grasping the handle and turning it, the sound of it opening filling the silence as he pushed the door into the room, triggering the lights with his movements.

It happened in seconds.

Adrien fell to the floor with a pained shriek, an object colliding with his back again—violent, _hard—_and Marinette was frozen on the spot, standing there in the hallway, clutching at her spoon as a bat was being used to hit him.

There wasn't time to think it through.

She rushed froward, throwing herself at the person, almost tripping over Adrien's fallen body in the process. She hit her target, breath leaving her lungs as she caused them to topple back to the ground, her going with them. Her knees hit the flooring painfully, the jostle causing her to bite the inside of her cheek from the impact, and she scrambled, clawing at their face as she tried to gain the upper-hand in such a short amount of time.

But instead of incapacitating them, she was shoved roughly to the side, falling down onto the floor with a wheeze.

It was a male.

Then, there was pain as his fist collided with her eye—pain, blurred vision as she let out a choked breath—and Marinette tried to crawl backwards, tried to frantically scoot away from what was happening, but the next blow was delivered to her stomach.

She felt like she was going to be sick.

But he—

He was pulled away, Adrien's arms looping around his neck and pulling tightly—pulling him _away_ from her.

She breathed heavily, reaching for the spoon that had clattered to the floor, struggling to get a good grip on it.

Adrien was scrambling to keep ahold of the male, continuing to choke him as the other thrashed, attempting to get free, and she—

Marinette made the conscious decision to do what she thought she hadn't been capable of.

Instead of reasoning with him, trying to talk him down and come to some sort of peace, she used her free hand to tightly grasp at his hair—it was black, it was like _hers—_and thrust the handle with as much force as she could through his eye.

The sound it produced almost made her retch.

The pained scream that left him was dreadful, the red-coloured liquid that started to coat her hand felt horribly warm, but all she could focus on was that Ivan had been at the bottom of the stairs, weak and defenceless when someone had taken advantage of that.

And that could've been Adrien.

She pushed it in as far as she could, vision growing blurry with tears as she did so. Adrien didn't let go of his hold, even when the male had started screaming, raising his hands up to try and push Marinette away, to get her to stop hurting him any further.

Her hold slipped.

And as she sat there, staring at Adrien keeping the male restrained—the tiny piece of metal that was untainted by the blood, shining in the light, begging for attention—she couldn't really describe how she felt.

Her hands were shaking.

“We have to go,” Adrien said.

She—

She did that, didn't she?

“Marinette,” he called, urgent. “Please.”

The boy she'd injured was sobbing openly, the pained noises escaping him seeming to be too loud to ignore, and it was with a certain numbness to her that she got to her feet.

She stared down at Adrien still holding him.

“Okay,” she said.

There wasn't any emotion to her voice.

Adrien pushed the male to the side, surging forward and grabbing Marinette's hand before he opened the door for them to run.

He chose to go back into the bedroom.

She was breathing heavily, finding it hard to focus on her surroundings, and she sunk down to her knees as he flittered around the room, pushing the vanity back in front of the door without her help.

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly.

It was a bit of a blur after that.

Marinette didn't even realise that she was crying.

Adrien was there, sitting down beside her, rubbing comforting circles into her back, and it just made her cry more. It wasn't supposed to be like that—the trip should've been their first time travelling together, a nice step in their relationship, not something that led to them showing the worst parts of each other.

“I—” Marinette choked out, furiously wiping at her eyes, the pain from where she'd been punched hard to ignore. “You're—you're okay, right?”

“I am,” he softly reassured her. “Thanks to you.”

She sniffed loudly. “Are you hurt?”

“My back's sore,” Adrien admitted, continuing to rub her back. “But I don't think anything's broken. He—I don't think he was using all of his strength.”

But she had.

Her voice quivered as she announced, “I lost my spoon.”

“I don't think you want it back, honestly,” he replied. “I... I kind of left behind my frying pan, too.”

She swallowed. “We don't have anything?”

“Well,” he started. “I still have you.”

Even her laughter sounded wet. “I don't think that's a plus at all.”

“It is,” Adrien said, leaning and resting his head against her shoulder. “Without you, I think I might've still been hiding under that desk.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” she scolded. “You—I don't want to think about not being with you.”

“Sweet,” he cooed. “You sound like you fancy me, you know?”

Not all the blood could be wiped off of her hands onto her jeans, but at that moment, that thought was faded in her mind. She was focusing on his soft words, the intimate contact that they were sharing, choosing to clutch onto the good things in such a dreadful situation.

So, it was with affection clear in her voice that she said, “Idiot.”

“Can I be your idiot?” he asked.

“We're dating,” Marinette pointed out.

And when he raised his hand in the air to cheer, it was more sincere than it had been with Nino there.

They stayed sat there for a while, on the floor just beside the door, the vanity right beside them. Marinette adjusted her position, leaning into him more, wrapping an arm loosely around his waist, and it evolved into her putting her head onto his shoulder instead.

Her stomach felt tender from where she'd been punched, and she was sure she was going to have a black eye when the bruises developed. Her face was throbbing, felt a little swollen to touch, but it was helping to distract her.

She tilted her head, making it so she was able to gaze up at him. From the blond on the end of his eyelashes, the curve of his nose, to the messy hair that he hadn't bothered to try and smooth down—even when they were in a dreadful situation, it was easy to admire him.

Adrien was strong, wasn't he?

She didn't—she didn't want that to stop, didn't want his smile to fade away with him.

Sitting up, Marinette slowly reached out to cup his cheek, turning his head towards her. And when their gazes met, hers flickered down to his lips, making her intentions clear. He had all the time to turn away, to decide that that moment wasn't the right time to indulge in such a thing—but that didn't happen.

Her eyes fluttered shut as her lips gently pressed against his. It was soft, tentative, and ever-so-slow. It felt more fragile than the first one they'd shared barely two months ago; it was still fresh, almost fleeting, and she felt special to be able to touch and see him in such a way at all.

It wasn't filled with lust.

But it turned desperate. Marinette ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, and Adrien's arms were around her waist, returning each and every movement with equal enthusiasm. And when she shifted, awkwardly getting onto her knees before making it so she was straddling his lap, a leg on either side, he didn't resist.

If anything, he adjusted his position to make it easier for her.

The added height for her from sitting on him made it so she had to tilt her head less. The feel of his breath on her skin was warm, his lips were soft against hers, and each sensation was grounding, reminding her that he really was there, that he wasn't going to disappear when she opened her eyes—

And when he ran his tongue along her bottom lip, she responded in kind, deepening the kiss with enthusiasm, readily accepting the sudden shift. It was sloppier, not the sweet little kisses that he'd give her before they'd part for classes—he was holding onto her tightly, making it so she was pressed against his chest, and kissing her with a passion that she hadn't quite experienced before.

She liked it.

They pulled back, she could feel his breath on her skin, and opening her eyes made her able to see the colour that had appeared on his cheeks, the reddened lips that hadn't been there before, and the fond look in his eyes as he smiled, dimples showing from the sincerity of it.

She grinned right back at him.

It was awful and wonderful all at once—as happy as she was that he was there with her, not leaving her side, she couldn't push the horrors that they'd seen aside.

There was dried blood on her hands.

The only water they had was in their bottles, and she wasn't going to waste that to try and wash away her regrets.

She rested her head on his shoulder, still sat on his lap, and closed her eyes.

“How long do you think we can stay in here?” she asked quietly.

“Not long, probably,” he mused. “We're—we don't have anything right now. Think my frying pan will still be there?”

Unsure, she replied, “Maybe.”

“I—we should check.”

It was hard to miss the correction he'd made there, including her without questioning it fully.

She smiled with her cheek pressed against him.

“He's—” Marinette started, unable to convey her thoughts clearly. “There hasn't been an announcement.”

“No,” Adrien confirmed, voice barely audible. “That means—that means he's still... here.”

She couldn't swallow the lump in her throat. “Yes.”

“He must've moved,” he said, but even he didn't sound sure of it. “Otherwise—otherwise someone would've stumbled across him, right?”

“And your frying pan,” she pointed out.

He reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “And that.”

Their plan in the end wasn't a good one. The fallen chair that had once been with the vanity had already lost two legs, but with Marinette hitting it against the frame of the bed, she was able to break another one off.

It wasn't the safest, but it would have to do.

It hurt when she leaned down, putting pressure onto her stomach.

Adrien had wanted to be the one to do it, but she didn't want him injuring his back any further.

She passed it to Adrien before breaking off the remaining one, breathing heavily as she clutched the rest of the chair in her hands, staring down at the bits of wood and dust that had fallen to the ground.

She was certain she got a splinter.

Marinette refused to let him go first to open the door.

And when they reached where they'd been attacked before—with Marinette kicking open the door to trigger the lights, jumping to the side, terrified of a repeat of last time—they were greeted by the sight of blood standing out against the carpet, the same boy they'd left before still on the floor, unconscious with his face pressed against the floor.

She felt nauseated.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as she stepped into the room, trying hard not to look directly at his body—only enough to confirm that he was still breathing.

There hadn't been an announcement of his death, after all.

It was another bedroom, that time with a single bed in the corner. The windows were boarded up, like the rest, and the furniture had been destroyed and pieces taken off them.

The frying pan was still there.

And when she reached down to collect the discarded bat—the very one that had been used to injure Adrien—Marinette looked over to the boy, seeing the blood and gore that was coating his face.

She did throw up in her mouth at that, but Marinette—

Marinette swallowed it down, throat burning and body protesting to the action.

“Let's go,” she croaked out.

Adrien didn't question her choice.

She left a badly injured, bleeding, and unconscious boy on the floor in favour of stealing his weapon, and—

And she couldn't find it in herself to feel bad about it.

-x-

The male she'd hurt had been called Luka.

His announcement had come a while later, followed by a girl named Rose.

They stumbled back into the room, working on a rotation and trying to avoid being shocked for staying still for too long, only to find that he wasn't breathing any more.

She felt numb more than anything.

But the bat was still in her hands. Marinette was holding it tight, keeping it close when she was sat down, ready to use it if the occasion arose.

Adrien kept rolling his shoulders, trying to get rid of the pain in his back.

He was adamant that nothing was broken, just that it was sore.

It didn't make her feel any better.

They travelled back to the first bedroom afterwards, and as soon as she yawned, Adrien told her to try and sleep again. They'd only just got there, he reasoned, saying that there'd be enough time for her to rest without being interrupted like before.

But when she closed her eyes, shoes still on as she was curled up in the bed, she ended up staring at the wall, caught up in her thoughts.

Marinette didn't cry.

Eventually, she tucked her head underneath the covers, moving it until there was a small section open for fresh air to come through. She did fall asleep.

And when she woke up, the lights were still on.

Adrien was sat on the floor, head turned to face her, a small smile visible. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he greeted.

Her mouth tasted terrible.

She took a small sip from the water bottle.

“What did I miss?” she asked, though it seemed redundant as they were still in the same room.

“Someone tried to get in,” he revealed, standing up and stretching his arms out in front of him. “But they gave up really quickly. Seems our plan actually worked out.”

She swallowed. “I'm surprised.”

“Yeah, you and me both,” he agreed. “Did you sleep okay?”

“As well as I can, I guess,” Marinette admitted. “Thank you.”

“You should eat,” Adrien started, already collecting his backpack from the the floor, fetching one of his energy bars. As he had before, he snapped it in half, holding out one for her as he said, “Here.”

Marinette's smile was genuine. “Thanks.”

There was still blood on her hands.

But she ignored it, ignored the fact that she had a reminder of a dead boy on her skin, that it was her actions that surely led to his demise—

It was hard to swallow.

But she couldn't waste food, not when Adrien was kind enough to share with her. He'd already fetched his water bottle, taking a sip from it before holding it out for her, too, an encouraging look on his face.

All she could ask was, “You're—you're not going to leave me, right?”

“I—no,” he stuttered out, shock clear in his voice. “I'd never.”

And he really meant that, didn't he?

“You barely know me,” she confessed weakly. “But you—you're here with me, still.”

Slowly, he took the seat beside her on the bed, his brow furrowed. “Do you really think I'd leave you?”

“I don't know,” she said.

And it was the truth.

Adrien didn't—the most they saw of each other was at college. They'd only known each other for a few months, had started dating a surprisingly quick pace, but it wasn't as though they spent a lot of time together outside of lessons. Sure, they spent breaks together, sharing lunches and chatting when they could, but the intimacy of the kiss they'd shared hours ago was the most they'd ever done.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he whispered. “Marinette, I—I'd never do that to you.”

She blinked, trying to get rid of the itchy feeling of her eyes. “Why not?”

“Why would I?” he countered. “You're—”

For a moment, he closed his mouth, no words escaping, clearly lost on how to convey his feelings.

And when he did speak up, his voice cracked. “You're all I have left.”

She swallowed.

“Don't leave,” Adrien whispered, reaching out and taking ahold of her hand.

His felt cold.

“I won't,” she said. “But we—we should probably leave here soon.”

He leaned forward, resting his head against her shoulder, but he wasn't putting his full weight on her. “I know you're right, but I... I don't want to leave, not yet.”

They stayed for a while, until Adrien's eyes were drooping and he said that he was too comfortable and almost falling asleep. When she stood up, one foot felt numb from how she was sitting, and they made sure that they were awake before venturing out.

But before they left the room, Adrien kissed her softly, leaving her wanting more.

She was really glad he was there.

The plan had been to rotate to the office, to do what they'd been doing all along, but that wasn't what happened.

Instead, they found the door locked.

Barely any time had passed, but when she tried to go back into the bedroom, to go where they'd just came from, that door was locked, too.

But no one—no one had entered it since they'd left.

They would've seen them.

She swore underneath her breath.

The door with Luka's body was locked, too.

There was only one more down their side of the hallway, and it was in much the same condition. It meant that the locks really could be altered from afar, without anyone actually touching them, and although she knew that she shouldn't have been too surprised, it was still frustrating to find out.

All the doors downstairs had been locked when they'd first came out.

Instead of trying the opposite side, Marinette gestured to the staircase. Adrien was sticking close behind her, the frying pan in hand.

It was when her foot touched the first step down that they heard a sound.

Panicked, she turned her head in the direction, body tensing as a girl came into sight.

The girl stared at them, equally as shocked, the door she'd just come out of falling closed due to the weight of the door.

There was blood on her clothes, splattered and smeared on her face, and standing out against her pale skin. But when she reacted to their presence, it was to grab the handle of the door, trying to open it—

There was no mistaking her.

The knife was missing.

The first instinct Marinette had was to flee.

Marinette grabbed onto Adrien's hand, tugging him down the stairs, running fast, their footsteps echoing throughout the entrance as they sprinted. Avoiding the archway in the middle, she pulled him through the doors on the right, the ones that had been shut in the beginning—where she'd watched in horror as that girl had stabbed Ivan in the chest.

The doors weren't locked any more.

They stumbled into the second room—a bathroom with a walk-in shower—and she was breathing heavily as she fumbled with the door, trying to see whether there was a lock.

Of course, there wasn't.

She stood with her back against it, making eye contact with Adrien, seeing that he looked just as terrified as her.

But he—he didn't know about that girl, did he?

The announcements never said the cause of death, how it had happened at all, or who'd committed the murder. All that mattered was listing off the dead, counting out how many of them remained.

“We can't stay here for long,” Adrien quietly pointed out.

And as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. There wasn't any way for them to block the door, let alone lock it, and there wasn't anywhere in the room for them to hide if someone barged in. As spacious as it was, it was the worst room they'd been in thus far.

It was too dangerous.

The door opened in a way where it almost hit the wall, so neither of them could hide behind it to be safe.

She swallowed. “Okay.”

“Think the others will be okay?” he questioned, coming to lean against the wall beside her, the only proof that he was scared being the tenseness of his shoulder. “The rooms, I mean.”

“Maybe,” she said. “They were all locked before.”

He shrugged. “Let's try, then.”

But when she opened the door again, staying inside as to not trigger the lights immediately, it was clear that the hallway ones had timed out. The girl hadn't followed them down there.

As large as the building was—a mansion, a lavish one that any family would've been lucky to live in—it felt stifling, so confined and terrible when forced to navigate through it, trying to think of safe places and avoid the other people in the home.

Marinette had barely seen any.

But there was still a lot of them, wasn't there?

Five had died.

It was with a deep breath that she ventured back into the hallway, bat held tightly in her hands as she crept along, a stark difference to the frantic running not that long ago. Adrien was right behind her, not spreading out too much, but she still glanced over her shoulder to make sure he was there.

He gave her a weak smile at that.

She didn't return it.

Trying the other handles on that side of the building turned out to be a bust, though. They were all locked, much as they had been before, and to settle the suspicions she had, Marinette tried the bathroom that they'd just exited.

Locked, too.

She could hear noises in the entrance.

If it was happening to them—the shocks, the doors locking by themselves—then it was surely happening to the others, too.

They were being lured out into the open.

The hallways didn't have much furniture in them, nothing big enough for them to hide behind.

The closest to cover would be the dining room with the turned over tables, or the kitchen, if it was still open.

Those two options were in the middle of the house, though. It meant going out into the entrance, to the most dangerous place where all the turnings went to.

Going back upstairs, after they'd seen someone else locked out of their room, would've been foolish. But as they stood in the hallway, lights above them timing out as they didn't move, Marinette was lost on what to do.

“Someone's there,” Adrien remarked quietly.

There was no denying that.

They were on the opposite end on the hallway, not close enough to see what was happening in the entrance. She wouldn't have a repeat performance of watching her friend fall down the stairs, helpless—

She took in a sharp breath.

“What do we do?” Marinette asked.

“I—” Adrien's voice cracked. “I don't know.”

“We have to go out there,” she whispered. “We—”

There were voices.

Plural.

It didn't sound friendly.

There wasn't much that they could do, was there?

Before they could wander into the entrance, to possibly try and sneak past while the others were occupied, the decision was made for them when someone ran into the hallway, triggering the lights above them.

Marinette's reaction was instinctual.

She swung, smashing the bat into their face with enough strength to make her stumble. And as they went down, a choked noise escaping them, she raised it again, furious and outraged that she was being put into the situation at all.

It was a boy.

And as he fell to the floor, clutching at his bleeding face, she kicked him, making it so he fell onto his side, creating space for them to leave.

She didn't kill him.

But there was blood on her bat, her hands were shaking, and Adrien had to be the one to grasp onto her arm, dragging her along.

She couldn't—

She couldn't space out, couldn't dwell on what she'd done.

Others had done so much worse than her, hadn't they?

Adrien suddenly stopped, causing her to bump into his back from the abruptness of it, and she was about to ask him what was wrong when she saw the crumpled body at the bottom of the stairs.

She'd almost forgotten about that.

But Adrien—Adrien was staring at Ivan's corpse with tears gathering in his eyes, the frying pan still clutched in his hands as he struggled for words, mouth falling openly slightly.

It wasn't the _place_.

The boy that she'd shoved aside had gotten up, was wiping the blood away with his face and stumbling after them, reaching into his pocket as he went.

But Adrien was too consumed with the grief of his friend.

It shouldn't have come to that.

Marinette should've been going back in the car with Adrien and Ivan, the three of them joking, laughing—not trapped in a wrecked building that had seen better times, back when it surely hadn't been stained with blood with bodies littered throughout it.

The boy tried to lunge at her, something dark-coloured in his hands.

Marinette wasn't good at sports, she knew that.

She never had been.

But it was easy to one-up someone that was injured, that had blood pouring down their face, and, surely, was distracted by the pain.

She used the bat to hit his hand with all her strength.

He howled in pain.

The item that he'd been holding clattered to the floor. And as he reacted by crouching down, desperately reaching for it—

Marinette smashed his head with the bat.

And when he screamed, falling to the ground, Marinette did the same again.

She was panting, terrified, but her body felt numb. It was adrenaline that was making her move, to continue to cause those awful noises to come out of him—from his body and his mouth—and she didn't want to stop, not when she didn't know whether she'd be safe.

It was—it was the right thing to do, wasn't it?

He would've hurt her—he _wanted_ to hurt her.

He stopped trying to reach his weapon.

She didn't realise she was crying.

She didn't—she didn't know exactly what was going on, not really. But then Adrien was there, pulling her into his arms, trying to take the bat away from her—but he couldn't do _that._

Marinette frantically held on it, keeping the metal bat against her chest, the sudden wetness from where it was touching her clothes hard to ignore.

“Marinette,” Adrien whispered, desperate and broken all at once. “We need—we need to go, okay?”

She was breathing heavily.

It was neither of them that spoke next.

“Boy one, Nathaniel,” came through the speakers. “Dead.”

It felt like her ears were ringing.

“Six remaining.”

When she looked up, finally starting to focus, it wasn't Adrien's face that made her feel grounded; rather, it was the girl hidden in the darkness of the hallway, staying still and trying not to trigger the lights.

It was the girl that had killed Ivan.

But instead of being the one to hurt someone, she was in the shadows, looking in fear, absolutely horrified as they made eye contact.

And Marinette—

Marinette _laughed_.

It was bordering on hysterical.

Because—because they were in a terrible situation, weren't they? It wasn't just about hiding, trying to stay quiet, and avoiding conflict, not really. There was so much more.

When Adrien dragged her away, she didn't resist.

He never even realised that girl was there.

-x-

Nino's body was in the dining room.

Adrien almost slipped from the puddle of blood.

There seemed to be an understanding between them not to talk about the corpses they came across. Neither of them tried to figure out how they died, which one they were—Adrien never mentioned Ivan's fallen body.

It was going to stay that way.

With both of their strength, they were able to move the fridge in front of the door in the kitchen.

Nino had never thought of that.

While it seemed that she was better at violence—if that was even the right way to phrase it, when it was really blind rage and panic—Adrien was more practical. He made sure that they were thinking logically, that they were safe from all areas, and that the two of them continued to eat and sip from their drinks.

He was smart.

“I'm not hungry,” she tried to say.

There was no hiding the blood that was on her clothes, hands, and she was sure some of it had gotten onto her hair, too. She felt gross, unkempt, and was sure that she was going to start smelling as bad as her breath soon.

“You are,” Adrien insisted, trying to get her to eat some of his bar. “You're just—you're not feeling it right now, that's all.”

She'd chosen to perch herself on the edge of the counter, legs dangling off of the floor.

Adrien was standing in front of her, one hand resting on her thigh as he tried to coax her to open her mouth. Their weapons were beside them, not too far out of reach.

But when she was with him—Marinette didn't feel the stifling pressure to hurt others. The panic of being attacked, the worry that she'd have to hurt someone faded away when they were safe for a short period of time, in their own little world.

Because Adrien would never hurt her.

She took a bite.

“Good,” he praised, an honest smile.

He was reliable.

The most she'd had to rely on him before had been for homework that she wasn't quite sure she'd gotten right.

And yet, she was trusting him with her life. It was different than being friends, dating—he'd already saved her from someone, proving that he was capable.

Without him, she would've gone hysterical.

“Thank you,” she started, swiping her tongue out to lick her lips. “For everything, I mean.”

His expression softened. “You don't have to thank me.”

“We haven't even been dating that long,” she pointed out, raising her eyebrows. “But you—you're really reliable, aren't you?”

“I don't know?” Adrien ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall down to the back of his neck. “I wouldn't... I'd never leave you here.”

She swallowed. “But you'll have to kill me eventually, you know?”

There was no hesitation from him. “No.”

“No?” she echoed.

“No,” Adrien confirmed, reaching out and cupping her face. “You—I didn't save you earlier, just to kill you off.”

With a bitter smile, she replied, “That's not how this works.”

“I don't care,” he insisted.

She was sure that he could feel her pulse.

“Only one's coming out alive,” she whispered.

“We don't know that,” Adrien said, the desperation clear in his voice. “We—that's just what we've been told, isn't it?”

She gently put her hand over one of his, leaning into his touch. “You're supposed to be smart.”

His laugh wasn't sincere at all. “So are you.”

“Both of us aren't making it out of this,” she replied, pressing a soft kiss to his hand, looking him in the eyes as she did so. “Are you going to hurt me?”

There was no mistaking the emotion in his voice as he uttered, “_Never_.”

She believed him.

But there was so much more to it than just their feelings. It wasn't them that was in control at all—if it was, then no deaths would've occurred in the first place.

They didn't even know where they were.

All Marinette knew was that they were being monitored; surely, the necklaces kept track of their locations throughout the home, and whether they were still breathing or not.

It had to be precise.

“I don't want to hurt you,” she confessed.

“Then don't,” he whispered.

Her throat felt tight. “Okay.”

Neither of them slept.

The time that they spent in the kitchen passed slowly. They talked quietly, about topics that surrounded the outside world; from what he wanted to do for a job, whether he had any plans for the future, and even what type of animals were his favourite.

Of course, Marinette answered the same questions.

And when they heard screaming outside, even pounding on the door at one point when someone tried to get in, only to be stopped by the fridge blocking their entry—

They didn't do anything.

Adrien was the one to clear his throat and ask, “What's your favourite cake?”

It was trivial, but it kept them distracted.

Marinette told him all about her favourite birthday parties growing up; how it was just her and her mother, the two of them singing terribly and blowing out the candles on the tiny cake together.

They'd either never had the money for a big party, or she hadn't wanted one.

“I'm sorry you lost her,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around her waist, making it so she was resting her head on his shoulder. “She sounded lovely.”

“She is,” Marinette insisted. “She—she might wake up.”

He didn't say anything to that.

“I was supposed to visit her next weekend,” she confessed. “It's... I'm allowed one visit a month. And it—I was going to tell her all about you.”

He held her tighter. “I'm sorry.”

She sniffed.

The loud voices outside were back; closer, almost able to be heard, and then there was a noise as it seemed someone was slammed against the wall.

But there was no announcement.

The noises stopped.

No one's heart did.

Adrien asked her opinion on video games.

She laughed at that.

It wasn't clear how long they stayed in there, wrapped up in each other's arms on the floor, but neither of them tried to sleep.

Adrien was the one to be shocked first.

“That's our cue,” he rasped.

She pressed a kiss to his chapped lips. “You've got my back, right?”

He coughed. “Always.”

It shouldn't have been romantic; the exchange should've been horrifying, something that they shouldn't have had to think of at all, but it made her smile brightly.

She believed him.

As expected, the door locked behind them when they went outside. The amount of detail that went into the house—the cameras in each corner of the every room to the controlled locks—was astounding, not seen very often, and the funding that it had to have taken must've been impressive.

Someone was very invested in killing orphans.

Because that's—that's what they were doing, wasn't it?

Even if only one remained—because no one would listen to their mad ramblings, surely—it was eleven less than before. It was such a small group, had seemed like nothing in the beginning, but with the bodies dropping over time, Marinette was terrified of just bumping into the four others that were wandering around.

There were noises coming from the entrance, but that was the only way they could go because of the locks.

Marinette went first.

She crept through the dining room, through the archway leading to the entrance where the lights were already on, following the noises to see two in a scuffle—if it could even be called that.

The red-haired girl was on the floor, no sign of her knife in sight.

It was almost poetic how someone else was on top of her, stabbing what looked to be an arrow through her chest, piercing the skin and causing red to bleed through.

The girl was screaming, thrashing and trying to get away, pushing at the person on top of them, trying to scratch them and pull their hair in an attempt to get them off—

But they were too preoccupied with hurting her to realise that anyone else was there.

It was awful, against her being, but—

But it's what she had to do, wasn't it?

Slowly, she approached. The girl's screams were turning hysterical from pain as the arrow pierced her skin again—that time it was her _throat—_and Marinette swung the bat.

The noise seemed to echo in the room.

And before they had a chance to recover, she brought the bat down again, the sickening crunch that followed causing her stomach to churn uncomfortably. But instead of waiting, taking the chance to run off—

Marinette hit them again.

She hit them until her hands felt clammy, grip becoming loose, her breaths coming fast.

There was blood everywhere.

But she—it wasn't _hers_.

She didn't want it to be.

“Boy six, Max,” the speakers sounded. “Dead.”

There were five remaining.

Adrien wasn't interfering, wasn't trying to pull her back and say that they had to leave. She didn't even glance his way, not wanting to see the horrified expression on his face. Because, surely, he wouldn't approve of what she was doing at all.

Instead, she focused on the girl that was trying to crawl away, arrow impaled through her throat. There was blood, tears, and pained sobs escaping her as she struggled to back away, not taking her eyes off of Marinette.

Marinette adjusted her grip on her bat.

There'd been no consideration for Ivan, had there?

The girl had attacked him before Marinette had even explored the whole building in the beginning. There'd been no hesitation, no regret until she'd been sat on top of her corpse.

And Marinette had watched it all.

And as she kneeled down beside her—the girl protesting, trying to push her away weakly with her hands—Marinette grasped the arrow that was embedded in her, twisting.

The girl cried out.

Marinette almost threw up.

But instead of leaving it at that, she tugged the arrow out, grip a little slippery, before jabbing it through the left side of the girl's chest.

She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to watch—

The announcement told her that her name was Sabrina.

Marinette was shaking.

But she—she'd done what was necessary, hadn't she? It was everything to keep herself and Adrien safe, to stop them being the targets of other attacks.

She really did throw up.

And when she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, standing up on wobbly legs, Adrien was staring at her with unrestrained horror.

His skin was pale, chapped lips standing out against it and his blond-coloured hair, and he looked so-very-terrified at the sight of the bodies on the floor.

Marinette's knees were damp with blood.

Her eyes were wet, tears running down her cheeks, and she hiccuped, stumbling as she took a step towards him.

But he didn't let her fall. Adrien caught her, wrapping her up in his arms, the frying pan touching her back as he embraced her, whispering words that she couldn't quite make out over the sound of her own crying.

All Marinette could say was, “She—she killed Ivan.”

He held her tighter.

He didn't ask for an explanation.

There was still more that had to be done, but she felt exhausted. Her eyes hurt, her stomach was cramping and she wasn't sure whether it was due to hunger or anxiety.

She didn't even know how much time had passed.

They hadn't reached the three day limit, but she had no idea how close they were.

It felt like so much longer.

Adrien had to usher her away, pulling them into the dining room so they were covered a little bit. The doors were still locked, but the open path to the entranceway would make it so they were able to hear if anyone came close.

She tried to stop crying, pressing the palms of her hands harshly into her eyes.

Adrien was silently rubbing her back, a consistent comforting presence that made her cry more.

For he—he hadn't done as much as her, had he?

He'd frozen, staring in horror at their last encounter. It didn't matter that they hadn't been the targets at all, did it?

It wasn't supposed to.

They were told to kill each other, not get into duels and not interfere.

She didn't—she _wouldn't_ feel guilty for interfering. It was a selfish situation that they'd been thrown into, and she needed to adapt, to overcome—

When she threw up again, there wasn't anything but bile.

Adrien offered her his water bottle.

“It's fine,” he said, as if to soothe her.

It didn't feel fine.

Marinette didn't—she didn't know how she felt at that moment.

It was almost like she was numb.

Eventually, they shared an energy bar, trying to listen out for any noises, but none were coming through. It either meant that the two remaining were still within rooms, had yet to be locked out, or that they were lurking, avoiding conflict.

Neither theory was a good one.

Once she'd calmed down, stopped crying and shaking, Marinette suggested that they search the bodies for weapons, perhaps snatch the backpacks off of them since their water bottles were running low.

It was best to be prepared, wasn't it?

Adrien was the one to walk out first, leading the way.

It turned out that the black-coloured weapon that had clattered to the floor when she'd attacked Nathaniel had been a taser. It was the kind that had to be jabbed into the target to take effect, not shot from a distance.

He would've easily hurt her if he'd managed to hit her with it.

It was as she was figuring out how to use it, Adrien a few steps ahead, searching the area and deciding where they were going to go, when things took a turn for the worst.

Marinette didn't know anyone was there.

Then, there was a blinding pain in her back. It was bad enough for her to scream out in shock, collapsing onto her knees from the excruciating pain that travelled through her, and she breathed in sharply, only causing it to hurt even more—

She was pushed, falling further onto the floor, biting into her cheek as she went, the taste of blood prominent along with the throbbing in her back, tears building in her eyes and panic coursing through her.

She scrambled, putting her hands onto the ground and pushing herself up, but the pain in her back grew worse. Her grip faltered, almost causing her to hit her face on the ground again, and she screamed out in agony from her wound being touched.

Whatever had been in her, they'd pulled it out.

Her vision was blurry.

Adrien had screamed her name.

There were noises, the sound of shoes against the floor, but she was too busy staggering to her feet, sucking in a sharp breath as she pressed a hand to her back.

It made it hurt even more.

When she pulled her hand away, it felt wet.

There was a the distinct sound of someone falling on the floor.

Tears were trailing down her cheeks as she limped, turning around behind her to see whether Adrien was okay.

But even with her vision blurry, pain coursing through her, she was able to make out Adrien standing there, the frying pan in his hands as she stared down at the body by his feet.

“Girl three, Juleka.”

He was frozen.

“Dead,” was stated, almost seeming deafening from the echo of the entrance. “Three remaining.”

Adrien had killed someone.

He'd—

He did it for her.

Then, as if snapped out of his trance, Adrien came and put his hands on his shoulders, steadying her as concern was clear on his expression. “Are you—are you okay?”

It sure didn't feel like it.

When she moved even the tiniest bit, the pain from her lower back flared up, causing her to tense up and make a frustrated noise, not used to the feeling. Adrien gently lifted up her jacket to inspect the wound, the sharp inhale of breath not helping her feel any better about it.

“It's—it's bleeding a lot,” he stuttered.

Marinette's laughter came out strained. “Oh, is it?”

“I think... we're supposed to put pressure on it, right?” he rambled, slipping off his own jacket and pressing it to her back. And when she jerked away with a cry of pain, he insisted, “We've got to stop the bleeding, I swear. It's—that's what you're supposed to do when whatever stabbed you has been taken out.”

She was still breathing heavily. “It hurts.”

“I bet,” he remarked, but it didn't come across as patronising. “I—I'm sorry.”

“Not your fault,” she said, reaching out and taking ahold of the banister on the nearest staircase, trying to stay upright.

Adrien helped her put her own hand on the jacket, holding it to her back, before convincing her to sit down. She wasn't right in the entrance, instead on the edge of the hallway with her back against the staircase, but she didn't feel any safer about being out in the open.

But there—there was only one more person, wasn't there?

He pushed her hair away from her forehead, pressing a kiss there. “Stay here.”

“You—” An incredulous laugh escaped her. “You think I'm going to let you go alone?”

“You're hurt,” he pointed out. “You're—I can do this much, okay? I don't... I don't want anything else to happen to you.”

“It might if you make me stay here,” Marinette muttered.

He flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders before swapping the frying pan to his dominant hand. “I'm not leaving you.”

“What, are you my lookout now?” she asked.

It was supposed to come across as sarcastic.

“Yes,” he said.

She pursed her lips, disapproving.

But there wasn't much she could do. Her back was hurting terribly, any movement she made causing it to flare up, and although the tears had stopped welling up in her eyes, she knew that she wouldn't be able to react in time to what happened, let alone defend herself.

She could barely push her hair off of her face without crying.

As if to make her feel better, Adrien collected the discarded weapons on the floor, passing them to her.

She had the taster back again, along with a bloody pocket knife.

It was what had stabbed her.

It felt weird to stare down at her own blood as she rested the knife on the floor.

But the situation couldn't get much worse; if anything, it was quite fitting that she was looking down at it. It might as well have happened.

She felt like she was losing her mind.

There were bodies on the ground in front of them, unresponsive and puddles of blood under them, but she felt—she felt safe with Adrien sat down beside her, the two of them still and hiding around the side of the staircase, the lights turned off from their lack of movement.

It was absolutely insane.

But he—Adrien had protected her, hadn't froze up and let her die.

“When we get out,” he whispered, speaking ever-so-quietly. “I'm going to take you on a date.”

She smiled, even though he wouldn't see it in the darkness. “Yeah?”

“I'm going to get you your favourite cake,” he announced. “And we're—we're going to be happy, okay?”

It sounded too good to be true, but she wasn't going to say that aloud. “That sounds nice.”

“It'll be more than nice,” he vowed. “The best damn date you'll ever have.”

“You're my first boyfriend,” she pointed out.

She could practically hear the smile in his voice. “Then, I've got to set a good example, don't I?”

“You already have,” Marinette reminded him. “You've literally saved my life. No one else is going to do that, are they?”

“I feel like—I'd do anything for you,” Adrien confessed, and she could almost imagine him looking at her fondly as he said it. “You—I think I love you, Marinette.”

Her throat felt tight. “Really?”

“I think so,” he whispered. “You're—you're the best thing to happen to me.”

If it was in any other situation, she wouldn't have believed him. They'd barely been dating for long—hadn't even had one holiday today—and yet, she could understand where he was coming from. The things she'd done for him, in _front_ of him, should've been unthinkable, absolutely wrong and against every fibre of her being, but she wasn't ashamed of any of it.

He was safe.

And because of him, she was, too.

“I didn't think I'd be this happy again,” she replied, honest. “Not after my mother. You're—you're amazing, Adrien.”

His reply was soft. “Tell me that after our date.”

But it wasn't going to get to that, was it?

“Okay,” she quietly agreed. “I will.”

The jacket she had pressed against her back started to feel wet.

She wasn't sure whether her consciousness was wavering because of the prolonged darkness or the loss of blood. Adrien hadn't told her how bad the wound was, but it certainly felt like the worse thing she'd ever experienced.

Then again, she'd never even broken a bone before.

She didn't have a good comparison for it.

When the lights flickered on, it wasn't because of them.

Marinette was startled when they turned on, blinking and trying to get her eyes to adjust, and Adrien stretched his arm out over her chest, signalling for her to stay where she was.

It would've been foolish for her to try and react. She was already feeling dizzy from just sitting there, keeping the fabric pressed against her wound.

Slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible, he got the pocket knife out, putting it in her free hand.

The message was clear.

He picked up the frying pan, crouched and peering around the corner, trying to see where the other person was.

She felt like she was going to throw up.

He'd—he'd be okay, wouldn't he? There was only one other left, and there was two of them. In theory, they had the upper-hand.

However, Marinette wasn't sure she'd be able to do much.

Adrien didn't seem to be hesitating. He turned to face her, mouthing some words that she couldn't quite make out, before he reached up and gripped the banister for support, standing up.

And then, he was running out of sight and away from where she knew what was going on.

There were noises, but none of them were screams.

Running, moving—trainers squeaking against the floorboards, and the pounding of running up the stairs, along with a shriek of pain.

She didn't know what was going on.

Her heart was beating fast.

She put the pocket knife into her mouth, biting down on the handle, using her free hand to hold onto the banister to lift herself up. It was a sorry sight compared to how easy it had been for Adrien, but she didn't want to leave him there—

She made it in time to see a girl falling from over the banister at the top of the stairs.

There was a sickening sound as her body hit the floor.

Adrien looked close to fainting as he looked down, gripping the banister tightly.

There was blood on his shirt; fresh scarlet on the fabric of his sleeve, clinging tight and rapidly spreading.

But, unlike Ivan, the girl didn't move again.

Her neck was at an awkward angle.

“Girl two, Aurore,” the speakers intoned. “Dead.”

Marinette stared up at him, lips parted in shock.

“Two remaining.”

He took a shaky step away, only just visible from her position, staring down at his hands in horror. They weren't blood-coated like hers, didn't have dried blood flaking off, but he'd—

He'd killed someone else.

Adrien was supposed to smile, be the positive one out of the two of them, but all she could do was watch as he broke down into tears, absolutely horrified at what he'd done.

With a sharp breath, she took the knife from her mouth, tucking into into the pocket of her jeans before walking slowly around the corner to the staircase, bracing herself for every step up. And as she got closer, the sound of his sobbing increased, becoming clearer and clearer.

By the time she'd made it up, he'd dropped down to his knees, gripping at his hair tightly and squeezing his eyes shut.

She almost fell over, instead slumping down ungracefully beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.

She still felt terribly dizzy.

“I love you,” she whispered thickly.

He continued to cry.

Marinette closed her eyes.

-x-

When she came to, she was on a mattress.

Marinette felt awful.

Trying to sit up reminded her of her predicament from the sharp pain in her back, and she cried out in shock, reaching out to clutch at the wounded area.

It still felt damp.

The jacket she'd been using was there, left behind where she'd been sleeping, stained red and standing out against the sheet. And beside her, Adrien was underneath the covers with her, expression the most peaceful she'd seen in what felt like forever.

Maybe he wasn't completely asleep, but his eyes opened, a soft smile appeared on his lips.

“Hi,” he whispered.

And despite the lingering pain and the stiffness of her body, she whispered right back, “Hi.”

There was a small silence.

Then, he laughed softly. “You look awful.”

“Thanks,” she said, not offended in the slightest. “You do, too.”

His grin showed his teeth.

It was just—it was ridiculous that she felt so comfortable with him. She was covered in blood—whether it was her own or someone else's—and the sight of his smile still filled her with happiness, even when she'd witnessed him sobbing uncontrollably, seeming to be close to breaking down.

And she'd surely fallen unconscious, only for him to carry her into bed, even going as far to tuck her underneath the covers.

It showed that he cared.

And when he saw her wince as she sat up, he joined her, shuffling along on the bed until he was close enough to wrap an arm around her shoulders, holding her close.

She didn't have the heart to tell him that it made her hurt more.

“Not much longer, I think,” he mused. “But.. I really don't know how long it's been.”

She breathed out audibly. “Same.”

They shared another energy bar.

There was only one more left between the two of them.

Adrien did say that he could venture out and search through the other backpacks to find food and water, but she didn't want him to leave so soon. Instead, she had him help to make it so they were lying down, Marinette on her side that wasn't injured.

He gently brushed her hair from her face. “We'll get you help.”

Her body felt clammy.

“I don't think—they're not going to let us both leave,” Marinette whispered.

But Adrien was shaking his head, not wanting to believe it. “They—they _can't—_we don't know that'll happen!”

“Think about it,” she insisted, her shaking hand reaching out and taking ahold of his. “If we... if we both get out, it's more than just one lunatic raving about some murder competition, isn't it?”

“No one's spoken about it before,” was his response. “We—we don't _know_ that they won't let us both, not if we don't try.”

It was a bittersweet thought.

They were never going to make it out together, were they?

If it really was government controlled, if they were willing to kill anyone that tried to escape the building, there was no telling what else they would do. They'd threatened to kill the remaining if the time ran out, but even if no one had tested to see whether it would actually happen, she highly doubted that it would work.

But Adrien was the optimist of the two of them.

“They'll kill us,” Marinette stated, voice shaking.

He squeezed her hand. “Maybe.”

But he—he didn't sound too upset about that, not really. And when she looked into his eyes, there weren't any tears there; they were reddened, yes, and he looked like he'd barely slept for days due to the darkness beneath them, but he wasn't terrified.

He looked exhausted.

“I still have you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her hand, holding it close to him. “You're—you're not going to leave me, are you?”

She gave a weak laugh. “Do I look like I could?”

“You look beautiful,” was his response.

She smiled. “Liar.”

“You do,” Adrien insisted, letting go of her hand to cup her face gently. “You always do.”

“Are you sweet-talking me?” Marinette asked, head feeling heavy as she shifted to get more comfortable. “Because if so, please continue.”

And when he moved forward to kiss her gently, Marinette responded in kind. She tried not to move much, couldn't lean into him to make it easier on them both, but it was still pleasant.

He was running his fingers gently through her hair, the kiss desperate and gentle all at once, not lust-filled with further intentions.

His breath was warm against her skin, his chapped lips matching hers, and she made a pleased noise, more than happy with the turn of events.

But when she pulled away, breaking it abruptly, she could see the confusion on his face.

“Hang on,” Marinette said.

It was painful to reach into her back pocket to collect the piece of gum that had been there all along, left behind when the rest of her belongings had been taken. It was a little crushed, not in the best condition, but she held it up like it was a rare treasure with a proud smile.

Adrien looked amused. “That's—you've had that all along?”

“I smuggled it in,” she joked.

With her prompting, they split it in half. The mint flavour was the closest they'd had to hygiene upkeep for days, and the pleasant smell to their breath was a nice change.

It definitely made kissing better.

At one point, they got too into it, Adrien leaning into her and Marinette shifting to try and get more comfortable, only for her to hiss in pain from aggravating her back.

He wouldn't stop apologising after that, saying that he was sorry for hurting her at all.

They stayed in bed, talking.

They steered clear from the obvious topic at hand—neither of them mentioned that the hours were surely ticking down, that the necklaces on them were picking up every pulse, knowing that they were still alive.

Marinette—

Marinette didn't know what to do.

Adrien seemed convinced that they'd let them both live; that, surely, if the two of them were firmly on the same team, they'd let them both go.

But the point of them being there in the first place was for them to die—it was the whole goal, wasn't it? If they cared about them at all, they wouldn't have been there. Instead, they'd been labelled with numbers, given weapons and told to hurt each other, just because they didn't have parents and were about to be legally recognised as adults.

And yet, Marinette couldn't stop thinking about her mother.

She was supposed to be seeing her in the hospital.

She was Marinette's only family left. It had been the two of them growing up for years; after her father's passing, through the tough years where they'd struggled for money with her mother picking up a second job, just to provide for her—

And all that had stopped when she'd gotten into an accident at work, winding up in a coma for close to a year.

Her mother had chosen her over anything.

And Adrien—Adrien wanted to choose the two of them staying together, to face what would come with blind optimism, even with blood on their hands.

She couldn't tell whether he just wanted to die with her.

They could've been lying. There was no proof that anyone had gotten out as the sole survivor before, let alone any evidence of the competition taking place.

All she had to go on was the bloodstains in the building, the wrecked furniture, and the clear signs that something awful had happened there previously.

Adrien said he loved her, but the only love she'd valued before had been her mother's.

And as she looked at him sleeping peacefully beside her, head against the dusty pillow with his hair an unkempt mess, all she could wonder was how she'd gotten so lucky as to capture his attention.

She didn't deserve someone so good, did she?

Her throat felt tight.

She didn't know whether she could agree with him.

To accept their fate together, to wait out the time and face the outcome, no matter what it was. Adrien didn't have a family waiting for him, didn't have someone in the hospital, unconscious and without anyone to visit them—

He just had her, didn't he?

The pocket knife felt cold in her hands.

She didn't know whether the tears were because of the pain or not.

Adrien was breathing evenly, on his back with his head turned towards her, utterly relaxed and open. The blood on his sleeve wasn't fresh any more, but the cut was clear in the fabric.

He'd told her not to worry about him.

He cared more about her injury.

She was crying, vision blurry as she pulled the duvet back, pain in her back flaring up and protesting her movements—

But he was still asleep, peaceful.

She wanted him to stay that way.

But what they wanted didn't matter, did it?

Not where they were.

Marinette's hands were shaking.

He had every opportunity to wake up, to sleepily open his eyes and smile at her, to talk to her—

But he continued to sleep, leaving her to her dangerous thoughts.

Marinette's hand felt clammy as she raised her arm into the air, holding it high, the shadow falling over his face—

And when the knife struck his chest, she squeezed her eyes shut, sobbing as she heard the sharp exhale of breath from him. But she held onto the knife, pressing it deeper, using her strength until her arm was shaking, the liquid that was coating her fingers a sure sign that she'd hit her target.

There was no resistance.

“Boy two, Adrien,” came from around her. “Dead.”

Her whole body shook from her tears.

“One remaining,” they said.

She tried to swallow.

“I'll—I'll tell my mother about you,” she choked out. “I love you.”

But there was no answer.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://xiueryn.tumblr.com) ( ´ ▽ ` )❤


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